George Manville Fenn (continued 7)

“I really can’t say yet,” was the reply. “Let’s find the next shaft first, and see how far it goes.”

They kept along the terrace where they could, but here and there the falling away of stones rendered it necessary for them to re-enter a cell and keep for a little distance along by the inner passage. But at last the first cell of the series was reached, and directly after they were standing at the top of the second stairway and looking about vainly for a third—the one that should give them a passage to the third floor of dwelling-places.

“There must be a way,” said Griggs, as he stood scratching his head, “but I’m a bit puzzled. The upper rocks hang over here, and there seems to be no sign of anything having broken away.”

“Let’s look in the first cell again,” said Chris; “perhaps it begins in there.”

They stepped in to where the ashes lay piled-up and forming a slope on one side reaching half-way up the back wall, this portion not having been disturbed.

“No way out of this place except into the next chamber,” said Griggs. “We shall have to look somewhere else. But didn’t you say we had found no weapons yet, sir?” he continued, addressing the doctor.

“Yes; you have not seen any?”

“Looks like a couple of those stone axes yonder,” said Griggs, pointing to the back of the sloping heap. “I’ll get them.”

He took a couple of steps, and his feet sank in some depth. Then quickly taking another and another to preserve his equilibrium, he uttered a cry of annoyance, for his weight had set the whole of the heap of dust in motion, bringing part into the cell where they stood, while the rest glided like sand upon a slope, evidently sinking through a similar opening to that which led into the next chamber, but here formed in the wall exactly opposite to the window looking out on to the terrace.

“Lend us a hand,” cried Griggs, and he snatched at one of those stretched out to his aid, following the rest in a hurried flight out of the place, for the whole of the ashes and bones were in motion and ran out through the back with a soft rushing sound.

Chapter Thirty Six.

It was all a Dream.

“Ugh! the dust!” cried Bourne, as they stood together looking back through what seemed like a mist.

But this soon subsided, and they stepped inside again, to find that a portion of the heap of remains had glided through an opening at the back, evidently the way into another cell—one that was dimly lighted from somewhere above, and which proved as soon as it was examined to be the way they sought, and not merely a narrow shaft, but a wide opening going upward and downward, the steps being in the wall which formed the division between the two chambers.

There was only a narrow landing at the foot of the steps, and below this the opening seemed to go right down like a square well, into whose depths the remains that disappeared had glided and lay far below.

“A huge cistern,” said Wilton eagerly.

“No,” said the doctor; “the old people could not have stored their water just below the way up to the next range of dwellings. More likely a great corn-store or granary.”

“Yes,” said Bourne, “that seems likely;” but Griggs grunted and said nothing.

“What do you think, then?” said the doctor.

“I don’t fancy those old folks would do much farming and corn-growing, sir,” replied Griggs. “You see, it’s a rocky sort of place all about here, with very little soil except in patches, and a short supply of water. Flocks and herds must have been more in their way.”

“Then what would have been the use of a place like this?”

Griggs was silent for a few moments, and then he laconically uttered the word—

“Trap!”

“A trap!” cried Chris wonderingly. “What could they catch up here?”

“Enemies,” replied the American, as he stood looking down and then up.

“What are you thinking?” said the doctor quickly.

“Only this, sir. Perhaps I’m wrong, but you see this is a stronghold, and I can’t help thinking that this is the only way into it. There was the first row of dwelling-places, got at only by a ladder, up which the enemy had to fight their way, and they seem to have killed all that were defending that part before fighting their way up to the second row. There they did the same, and here must have been the way up to the top part, which they tried to make stronger still. You see, it’s rather a ticklish bit up the side there, and plenty of room all round for those who defended the place to use spears and stones to beat down those who came against them. Just look, it wouldn’t only be driving them back, but knocking them off into a hole or trap where they’d be quite done for.”

“But if that were the case this hole would be piled-up with the remains of the enemy,” said Chris eagerly.

“That’s so, my lad, and we can easily prove it. I’m going down to see.”

“What, down into that horrible pit?” cried Ned. “I should have thought you had had enough of going down for the water.”

“I did, squire; but there’s no water here. All’s dry, and I fancy there’s a bottom to it. There didn’t seem to be any where the water went down. First of all, though, doctor, if it was a corn-store or granary there’d be steps like those that go up, going down.”

“Certainly,” said the doctor.

“And from where we stand, so that the people could fetch up sacks full or baskets.”

“Of course.”

“Let’s see, then,” said the American, and opening his box he took out a match, lit it, and going down upon one knee held the burning splint below him.

“No steps here,” he cried, jerking the nearly burned-out match out into the gloom.

“Try another,” said Chris sharply.

This was done, and a fresh examination made, but as far as could be seen the great square pit cut out of the rock went down smooth and square without a sign of foothold.

“I wonder how deep it is,” said Chris, in a whisper tinged with awe.

“We’ll soon find that out,” said the American. “Is there a loose stone anywhere about?”

“Yes, plenty on the terrace outside,” said Ned, and he stepped back, passed out of the window-opening, and returned with a piece of shale as big as his hand.

“Pitch it right out in the middle, squire,” cried Griggs, and the fragment quitted the boy’s hand, to fall with a sharp sound upon stone, as near as they could guess some thirty feet below.

“You’re wrong, Griggs,” said the doctor.

“Am I, sir? Well, not the first time by many.”

“If this place had been as you think, the bottom would be covered with ashes like those we saw glide down, and that stone would have fallen with a dull thud.”

“Very likely, sir. That’s only how it seemed to me. Shall I go down now and see?”

“No; let’s climb up to the next range and see what that tells us; we may find some explanation there. Mind how you go, Chris; these steps are risky.”

“Yes, I’ll take care, father,” panted the boy, who was already climbing. “I don’t want to tumble down there.”

The height climbed was greater than that of the two lower ascents, but proved to be fairly easy to one whose nerves were steady, and as he reached the top Chris called down—

“It’s so gloomy because the cliff overhangs it so. My word! There’s been some fighting here!”

The rest followed him quickly, and as they gathered, all noticed that there was a fairly wide ledge on all four sides of the place, forming a pathway fairly level, and chipped out of the solid cliff; while, making quite a breastwork at the edge, but irregular in the extreme, stones of all shapes and sizes were piled-up, quite regularly along the side farthest from the rough steps, and of all heights in other parts, the stones nearest to the steps being only few.

Griggs came last, and he noted this appearance, and uttered a deep grunt as he pointed out the rough breastwork, but said nothing.

“Stones used for building and squaring the openings on to the terrace, I suppose,” said Bourne, and the boys looked at them curiously.

“What about mortar?” said Ned.

“Think they were for building, sir?” said the American.

“Yes; don’t you?”

“No, sir,” was the reply. “It seems to fit with my idea.”

“What do you think, then?” said the doctor.

“I think the same as I did before, sir. Those are powder and shot.”

“What!” cried the boys, in a breath.

“Ammunition to cast down at an attacking force?” said the doctor eagerly.

“Looks like it, sir. You see, they’ve used most from close to where the enemy was coming up the steps. Perhaps I’m wrong, though. Let’s see what’s been going on here. But first of all, is there another floor higher up the cliff?”

A careful search only seemed to prove that they were now on a level with the highest terrace and range of chambers, while close by the top of the steps there was ample endorsement of Chris’s exclamation about the fighting that had gone on.

There was a fairly wide space between the top of the great square shaft and the openings into the first cell and that leading to the terrace front, and here the remains lay literally heaped, looking as if a most desperate encounter had taken place. Further examination proved that the first cell had also been desperately defended, for the combatants had lain in heaps. It was the same with the second, and as the adventurers went on without stopping to investigate, they found a dire repetition of the battle, and proofs that chamber after chamber had been a little battle-field in which many fell, right on to the extreme end of the range, all of which was in far better condition as to its stone-work than the terraces below.

The heaps of gruesome dust ended with the last chamber only, very little being seen to take attention; but on the terrace, and here in the last four or five chambers, the doctor stooped several times to rake away the soft, easily-swept ashes, to point out proofs of his former opinions, many of the relics he uncovered and touched being quite small.

“A horrible massacre,” he said softly. “Children, youths, and these are doubtless the skulls of women.”

“Oughtn’t we to preserve specimens of each to take back? They would be of intense interest to students of the past,” said Bourne gravely.

“How?” replied the doctor. “Touch any of them.—There, you see. They crumble into dust almost at a breath. What we carry away from here must be in our memories. As far as mine is concerned, it is already charged with the knowledge that we have, here the remains of two races of people, the one fierce and barbarous, the other the civilised builders and carvers of this strange city of the past. Here it is, all written down, how, in spite of all their efforts for their protection, dwelling, as they must have been, in the midst of fierce and bloodthirsty tribes, they were attacked, conquered, and massacred to the very last. For I expect when we examine the terraces on the other side of this place, we shall find a repetition of all we have found here. There, enough of horrors for one day.”

“But you’ll come and examine all this again, father?” said Chris excitedly.

“Yes, I should like to come too,” cried Ned.

“What, haven’t you both had enough of these horrors?” said the doctor, raising his eyebrows.

“N–no, father,” said Chris slowly, and as if thinking the while. “It is very horrible, of course, and one almost shivers to think of how the brave people must have fought; but there’s a something about it that seems to draw one on to try and know more, and it is almost like reading of a dreadful battle and a brave defence; only it seems to be so much more true.”

“Yes, and it’s so ancient, father,” said Ned, meeting Bourne’s eyes. “I want to know more, and to try and find some of the swords and spears and battle-axes.”

“I know what I should like to find,” said Chris, speaking as eagerly as his companion.

“What?” said the doctor, for Chris stopped suddenly, and seemed lost in thought.

“I suppose it couldn’t be done,” the boy added dreamily, “but I seem as if I was on the side of all those people who were beaten, and I should like to see how many of the enemy they killed before the last of them were massacred.”

“You’d like to count their enemies’ skulls, eh, Chris?” said the doctor, smiling. “Yes, I feel something of the same kind; but nature has forbidden that, my boy. You see we are amidst heaps of dust.”

“But we may find some of their weapons that they used,” said Bourne. “We must search for them.”

“I should like to put a word in here, gentlemen,” said Griggs suddenly, “for I’ve got a touch—a bad one—of our young friends’ complaint. We’ve a good two hours’ broad sunshine yet, I should say.”

“Oh, quite that,” said the doctor.

“Well, there’s all that lot of ammunition yonder at the top of the trap.”

“Yes,” said the doctor; “I begin to think you’re right about that, Griggs.”

“And seeing what a stand the poor people made here, fighting from room to room—or house to house, I suppose I ought to call it—I can’t help thinking that there was something pretty desperate went on before they let the enemy get up those steps.”

“No doubt,” said the doctor, “and that accounts for so many of the stones of that breastwork being missing.”

“That’s right, sir. Well, I want to go down into that hole with a big light, and see what’s at the bottom there. I’m reckoning that we could find out what kind of weapons the enemy had to fight against the stones.”

“Yes,” cried Ned; “their swords and—”

“Well, I don’t know about swords, squire,” said the American dryly, “but they must have had something to fight with. I vote that we go and see.”

This was agreed to without hesitation on the doctor’s part, and the party made their way back to the top of the steps.

There was a pause here while all walked along the four sides, where hundreds of stones averaging the size of a man’s head lay just as they had been placed ages before; and then the descent was made to the opening at the side where the heap of dust had disappeared, and a short consultation took place.

“You’ll have to give up for to-day, Griggs,” said the doctor; “it’s as black as ink down there at the bottom.”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking, sir,” said Griggs. “One must have a lanthorn for this job, and by the time I’ve been to fetch it, got back here with another rope or two, and lit up ready for work, another hour will have slipped away; so if Chris and Ned here will promise not to tell me that I’m too much scared to go, I think I’ll give it up for to-night.”

“You may take it for granted that no one will even dream of such a thing,” said the doctor quietly; “and I think it will be much wiser to give up. We’ve done quite enough for one day. Every one for camp, a good wash, and a hearty meal.”

An hour later they were seated round their camp-fire, talking over the adventures of the day, and that night almost the same dream disturbed the slumbers of both boys, whose minds overleaped the long roll of ages which had elapsed, and conjured up for them the rock city occupied by a busy population. Then came the alarm of danger, the surprise made by the active enemy, and then the fierce defence of the first standing, the fight on the lower terrace, and the desperate defence of cell after cell. Then the fight for the next, and afterwards the escalading of the staircase in the great square hole, down into which Chris seemed to see scores of fierce-looking Indian warriors beaten by the stones cast from above.

Worst of all in the dream was the final slaughter along the last platform, a sight so horribly real that Chris woke up suddenly, bathed in perspiration, and suffering an agony of excitement before he could force himself to believe it was all a dream.

Chapter Thirty Seven.

In the Old Stronghold.

The morning broke fresh and cool, and after a good meal a start was made for the top stairway, Griggs being armed with two lanthorns, while Chris carried ropes, and an iron bar fell to Ned’s lot, the intention being to drive the chisel-shaped end between two stones or into some crack, so that the rope might be safely held for the adventurer’s descent.

That which had seemed long and wearisome the day before looked easy now, and they were not long in reaching the slope leading to the first ascent, where the party paused to look back along the depression to where the animals were browsing contentedly enough, and the remains of the camp-fire sent up a tiny column of thin blue smoke. The ranges of open cells were on their right, terrace above terrace, all looking so grey and peaceful, with tree, shrub, and tuft of green flourishing in the various cracks, that it was difficult to connect the place with the horrors their search had unveiled.

“It looks from here,” said Bourne, “like the home of so many human bees who had built their peaceful city against the sides of the cliffs. Do you think we shall find that similar horrors were perpetrated over yonder?”

“If the opposite cells were occupied at the same time I’m afraid there is no doubt about it. We’ll find out the ascent to those terraces, if we can, to-morrow or next day. I wish we could come upon one of the chambers just as it was occupied by its owner.”

“I dessay we could find a lot of things here on this side,” said Griggs quietly to the boys, who generally kept with him for companion, “but it would be an unked job with shovel and sieve to clear out one of those cells.”

“A what job?” said Chris.

“Unked, my lad. That’s what a Somersetshire chap I once knew used to call anything dismal and melancholy. This is going to be an unked job this morning, I can tell you, for if it wasn’t for the feeling of curiosity to know all about these people I should be ready to pitch it over.”

“Well, do,” said Chris, “and leave it to Ned and me.”

“’Tisn’t a fit job for boys,” said Griggs.

“It isn’t a fit job for anybody,” said Ned, “but we’d do it because it’s learned and wonderful. Oh, I think it’s very fine.”

“P’r’aps it is,” said Griggs coolly, “but you’re not going to take the job out of my hands, and so I tell you. Just hark at him, Chris; he has got the idea in his head that he’s going to discover swords with golden sheaths, and belts thick with precious stones; helmets with plumes of feathers, and rich and costly armour.”

“Not such a noodle,” said Ned, whose cheeks had turned very red, for though not so extravagant as the American painted, he was fain to own to himself that he had some such ideas in connection with the dusky warriors who had stormed the place.

“I got thinking a deal of it though last night after I lay down,” said Griggs, who did not care to carry his taunts any further after seeing the colour of Ned’s face, “and I was precious glad that I didn’t go down with only a few matches for light. I got dreaming about it afterwards.”

“What, about the old fighting men? The dead?”

“No. About what might be there all alive.”

“What!” cried Chris. “Not about snakes?”

“But I did, my lad; and I kept on waking up and then going to sleep and dreaming the same thing again. I never saw such big ones alive as I saw creeping along the bottom of that great square hole, getting into the corners and squirming up one till they nearly stood upon their tails, and then fell over sidewise with a crack that sent the dust flying.”

“Horrid!” said Chris.

“Yes. They’re not nice things to dream about—snakes—because of the waking up.”

“Yes, I know,” cried Chris eagerly. “You fancy that you really have them about you, and feel as if you can’t believe it was only a dream.”

“You never felt like that?” cried Griggs.

“Yes, I have, more than once.”

“Well, that’s strange, because it’s just how I felt over and over again last night, and it quite set me against the job.”

“But now it is morning and we’re all awake and rested you don’t think it’s likely that there are any rattlers down in that hole?”

“I do think it’s very likely, my lad,” said the American gravely. “Give one a rocky place out in the desert where the hot sun shines, and there’s no one to interfere with them, and you’re pretty sure to find some of those gentlemen. I wonder we haven’t seen more.”

“I don’t like the idea of your going down, Griggs,” said Chris.

“Forward there,” cried the doctor from below, as he finished a long look at the edge of the cliff, sweeping it with his glass and wondering whether they could reach the tableland in which the depression stood like a chasm split in a blue, rocky desert, “Yes,” he said sharply, changing the course of his thoughts, “we must explore the other side of this great chasm, but let’s finish one side first.”

He was content to let Chris take the lead, and his friends smilingly gave way, humouring him, as they called it to themselves, Bourne good-temperedly taking it all as a matter of course, and feeling in nowise jealous on behalf of his own son. Wilton had on one occasion said something about favouritism, but Bourne had only laughed.

“Oh, let the boys alone,” he said, “and let them settle the supremacy between them. That will be all right. Chris is as honest and frank as the day. You must have seen that.”

“Seen what?”

“Why, that the boy’s generous at heart. He bullies Ned horribly sometimes, and then afterwards he seems to repent and behaves like a lamb, while Ned turns dog.”

So it was that in this matter of the exploration Chris led with his companion, and Griggs followed next, as if he were their henchman, while the three friends came last.

The ascents were made with spirit till all stood in the chamber at the back of which the opening led into the side of the square pit, and here, while the doctor thoughtfully turned over and examined some of the remains still left, Griggs lit the lanthorn he had brought, and Ned tied one end of a hide-rope to it, ready for the lowering down, while Chris had stepped through the hole and stood on the broad ledge at the foot of the rough projections in the stone wall that acted as steps.

“It must have been awful,” he said aloud suddenly, as he stood peering up through the twilight at the remains of the piled-up stones at the top.

“What must have been awful?” asked Wilton, stepping out to his side.

“Why, that fight when the Indians climbed up these steps, with the other people raining down big stones on their heads.”

“Think it was so?” said Wilton quietly.

“I feel sure of it. My word! Never mind about them being horribly savage—how brave they must have been! Why, I felt regularly shaky at having to get up yonder with no enemy to face.”

“Yes, it’s an ugly place,” said Wilton; “but what about enemies down below? Can you see anything?”

“No,” said Chris, gazing down. “It’s as black as black. I say, though, if there are any enemies down there they’re poisonous.”

“What do you think possibly can be down there—one of the fierce cats of the country?”

“No,” said Chris, smiling queerly. “Rattlers.”

“Ugh!”

“If there are any we shall see them when the lanthorn’s swung down. Why, it will be a good bit of sport for you to have a shot at them.”

“The horrible beasts!” said Wilton.

“We’re ready when you are,” said Griggs from the chamber. “The light’s burning quite brightly.”

“Bring it here, then.—I say, Mr Wilton, there isn’t room for all of us on this bit of a landing. Will you go up to the top and be ready to fire?”

“No,” said Wilton shortly. “I’ll leave it to you and Ned.”

He stepped back to join his friends in the chamber, and then, seeing how they were occupied, he stepped out on to the remains of the terrace, to stand there examining the openings in the cliff-face opposite.

“That’s right, Griggs, swing it down gently,” said Chris. “You, Ned, unsling your gun, and the first rattler you see give him a charge of small shot.”

Ned fixed himself against the wall with his left arm round one of the projections, cocked his piece, and stood ready with the muzzle pointed downward, gazing the while into the darkness far below, now beginning to be illumined by the swinging lanthorn, as Griggs paid out the rope and sent it lower and lower.

“You can see the heap of stuff—ashes, lying in a slope now,” cried Chris, who was watching intently. “Look, there’s one of those—you know what—looking almost white and shining.—Isn’t that something moving, Griggs?”

“Can’t see anything yet but that pile of stuff that went down. I say, it’s not so very deep, after all.”

“Thirty feet at least,” said Chris decisively.—“There, I’m sure of that. I saw something move right over in that—”

“Corner,” he was going to say, but the word was smothered by the sharp echoing report of Ned’s piece, whose flash seemed brighter than the light of the lanthorn, which glowed like a dull star now disappearing in a passing cloud of smoke.

“A rattler?” cried Chris.

“I’m not sure, but I saw something gliding along, and I fired.”

“Good boy! Quite right! Sharp’s the word. But I say, what a smother you’ve made. Get in another cartridge.”

Click! went Ned’s piece as he closed the breech.

“If that was a rattler,” said Griggs coolly, “seems as if it was just as well that I didn’t go down last night.”

“And this morning too,” said Chris. “Why, there may be quite a nest of the brutes down there.”

“P’r’aps so. But if there is it must have made some of them sneeze when all that dust went down with a rush yesterday.”

Just then Wilton leaned in at the window-opening of the cell where the doctor and Bourne were examining a carefully-smoothed, elliptical, cell-like stone with a hole through the thickest part as if for holding a wooden handle.

“What have you found?” he said.

“A stone battle-axe, without doubt.”

“Ah, it does look like it. You must save that. You have your glasses with you?”

“Yes,” said the doctor. “Want them?”

“Please. I want to look round.”

The doctor slipped the strap of the case over his head and passed it to his friend.

“Give a look at the mules and ponies,” he said. “If there’s anything wrong they’ll seem uneasy.”

“Snake in the grass, eh?”

“Yes.”

“All right.—I say, you within there, what have you shot?”

“Don’t know yet,” replied Chris. “Ned thought he saw a thumping great rattler.”

“Did he?”

“It’s too thick with smoke to see yet, but it’s clearing fast.”

Wilton, who displayed more and more his disgust with the task his friends had set themselves, took the glass and began sweeping the sides of the depression, noting the cracks and gullies running up the cliff-face opposite in amongst the cell-like openings, all wonderfully clear and bright in the morning air, while Bourne and the doctor, encouraged by the discovery of the relic of the stone age, went on turning over the ashes in the next cell.

Meantime the party at the side of the square pit waited impatiently for the smoke to rise and float out beneath the overhanging portion of the cliff above the top range of cells, Griggs giving the lanthorn a wave now and then, sending it flying, pendulum-like, as far as he could reach without bringing it in contact with the smoothly-cut wall.

“Not much chance for anybody or anything to get out of here again if he was at the bottom, lads. It’s a regular trap,” he said.

“Yes, but take care, or you’ll be breaking the lanthorn,” said Chris warningly.

“Nay, I won’t do that, my lad,” replied Griggs quietly. “But I say, squire, did you aim at its head or its tail?”

“I aimed at the part I saw moving,” said Ned. “Can you see it yet?”

“Nay. Can you?”

“No.”

“I’m afraid you shot at nothing,” said Griggs, with a laugh, “and you haven’t killed it.”

“I’m sure I saw something moving,” cried Ned indignantly.

“Where is it, then? It’s clear enough to see now.”

“Gone down into a hole, perhaps.”

“Or crawled down its own throat perhaps.”

“I know,” said Chris merrily; “Ned never misses anything. The poor brute has swallowed its own tail, formed itself into a ring, and bowled out like a hoop.”

“Of course,” cried Ned, raising his piece to his shoulder, as the light now penetrated well into one of the opposite corners, and without a word of warning he fired again.

“What did you do that for?” cried Chris excitedly.

“To put that reptile out of its misery,” said Ned.

“To fill the place with smoke again,” cried Chris indignantly. “It’s all fancy.”

“Precious noisy fancy,” said Griggs dryly. “My word, he must be a thumper! Talk about smoke, he is kicking up a dust.”

Chris was silent as he stood listening to the struggles of what was evidently a large serpent, while it writhed violently below them, beating about and lashing the pile of remains that had crumbled down from the cell, and sending up quite a cloud to mingle with that of vapour which rose, smelling pungently of hydrogen, towards the overhanging blocks of stone roofing in the square pit.

“I guess I’m quite satisfied now that I didn’t go down,” said Griggs coolly; “but there don’t seem to be more’n one, or we should hear them travelling about.”

“This one makes noise enough for a dozen,” said Chris.—“I say, Ned, I beg pardon. You don’t want me to go on my knees, do you?”

“No,” replied the boy calmly, as he made the breech of his double gun snap to very loudly; “only I wouldn’t be quite so cocksure that you know everything, next time.”

“Thy servant humbles himself to the dust,” said Chris, in Eastern style.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” said Griggs dryly; “certainly not till that gentleman below has done kicking it up. Say, how big should you say this one is?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It sounds as if it might be twenty feet long.”

“Yes; but if it is as long as that it wouldn’t be a rattler.”

“No; only a thumper,” cried Ned, laughing. “Hark, it’s quieting down now. Shall I give it another dose as soon as it is still?”

“No; save all the ammunition you can, my lad. It has had enough to finish it off. How strange it is that anything long should take such a time to die.”

They stood there patiently listening to the movements below, the lashing about gradually ceasing, to give place to a gliding, rustling sound as if the injured creature was travelling rapidly about endeavouring to escape. The dust began to settle as the smoke floated away, but twice over arose again as after a spell of silence there was the sound of a fall.

“He was trying to get up in the corner yonder,” said Griggs.

“How horrible if it comes up one of these angles,” said Ned, drawing his breath sharply.

“No fear,” cried Griggs. “Snakes can only raise themselves up for a certain distance, and then they fall over. I’ve watched them often.”

“I say, he’s getting quieter now,” said Chris.

This was plain to all, for the rustling died out, began again more faintly, died out again, there was the sound of a pat or two as if given spasmodically by the reptile’s tail, and then all was quite still, while the dust had cleared away so that the watchers could see by the lanthorn’s light the inert body of a very large rattlesnake.

“Why, it’s not half so big as I expected,” cried Chris.

“The biggest I ever saw,” said Griggs quietly.

“But it made such a tremendous noise,” cried Chris. “I expected to see one double that size. I say, hadn’t Ned better give him another charge?”

“No; one of you go up to the top and drop a good-sized stone down upon him. We shall see whether there’s life enough in him to be dangerous.”

“Hold my rifle, Chris, and I’ll go,” cried Ned eagerly, and the next minute he was scaling the side, and on reaching the top he walked to where he was nearly over the reptile, where he picked up a couple of stones of the size of a man’s fist and pitched one down, with the result that the snake began to writhe violently again, but only for a very brief time, before once more lying perfectly inert.

“No more mischief in that fellow,” said Griggs. “I may as well go down now.”

“What about the others?” said Chris.

“What others?”

“There are sure to be some more.”

“Nay; rattlers are not above showing fight. If there had been any more we should have seen or heard them. I shall chance it now.”

“I don’t like your going down yet,” said Chris anxiously. “I’ll have a shot at him now.”

“Nay, nay; we may want our cartridges for something more useful than a rattler that has had as much as it wants to kill it.”

“I’ll drop another stone on him,” said Ned. “One of those big ones.”

“Ah, do,” said Griggs. “Take good aim, and drop it right on his head. Can you see?”

“Oh, yes, I can see quite plainly.”

Ned raised one of the heaviest stones near him, and after a gentle swing let it go, to fall with a sharp crack upon other stones, making the snake twine again and writhe round the block, to hold on tightly.

“Why, he has pinned it down,” cried Chris. “Good aim.”

As he spoke the snake untwined itself and straightened out, to lie perfectly still.

“That’s done for him,” cried Griggs, “and if there had been any more that would have sent them squirming out of their holes. Here, you come down, squire. I’m going to knot two lariats together and pass them over one of these steps. I want you to help hold on.”

Ned descended, the rope was given a couple of turns round the lowest projection, and held by the two boys; the lanthorn was lowered down to stand on the heap of dust below, and the end of the rope by which it was lowered also held by Chris, while upon drawing his keen hunting-knife and taking it in his teeth, Griggs just said, “Hold tight,” took hold of the lowered rope, and slid lightly down, to stand below the watchers on the heap.

“Mind the snake, Griggs,” cried Chris.

“Tell him he’d better mind,” was the reply, as the American raised the lanthorn and, knife in hand, approached the reptile cautiously, and then the lookers-on saw him stoop lower and lower till he was near enough for his purpose, when there was a quick movement, a flash of light reflected from the knife-blade, and Griggs rose again.

“You’ve pinned him down with that last stone, squire. Head’s off, and he’ll do no more mischief. Now then, I’m going to look for your weapons o’ war.”

The boys could see the bottom of the square place clear enough now, as the lanthorn began to move about; but there was little to see. Upon this side lay the heap of ashes specked with a few fragments of bone which glistened feebly in the light, but beyond the heap which ran tongue-like from the side out to the centre, there was nothing to be seen but stones—heavy stones such as remained like the broken-down portions of the breastwork about the edges of the excavations at the top.

“Can’t see no treasures,” said Griggs gruffly; and directly after, “There aren’t a single shield—no spears—no swords—no breast-plates—no rifles.”

“Dear me!” said Chris sarcastically. “I wonder at that. How many revolvers can you see?”

“Nary one,” said Griggs coolly. “No gauntlets, no backpieces.”

Then there was a pause, before the searcher straightened himself up and said decisively—

“No, nothing.”

“How disappointing,” cried Ned. “But what about all those stones?”

“To be sure. You don’t call them nothing?” cried Chris.

“No; there’s plenty of them, my lads, and plenty of something else underneath them, I’ll be bound, if any one thought it worth while to clear out this cellar.”

“But what do you think now, Griggs?” cried Chris eagerly.

“Same as I did before, my lad. I shouldn’t like to guess, but you may feel sure that many a savage came to his end here and lies covered in by these stones. The people who defended this place from up yonder must have showered the stones down when they were attacked. There, it’s of no use for me to stop down here. Are you two going to haul me up, or am I to climb?”

“We’ll try and haul you up,” said Chris. “Stop a moment while I take the rifles and stand them up against the wall inside.”

“Hold hard a moment,” said Griggs. “You’d better go and fetch the doctor. He might like to come down and see before I send up the lanthorn.”

“I’ll call him,” said Chris, and he turned to pass through the opening, but was met by his father, who was crossing the stone chamber adjoining.

“Here, quick,” cried the doctor; “come out of this place! Where’s Griggs?”

“Here am I, neighbour. Nothing to be found, only what fell in from where you stand. But there’s hundreds upon hundreds of stones, and those who were beaten down must have been buried by what hit them.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said the doctor anxiously; “but we’ve something else to think of now.”

“Don’t say the mules have stampeded, sir?” cried Griggs anxiously.

“No; they’re grazing peacefully enough at present, but there’s something worse.”

“Then give a pull with the lads at that rope, sir, and let me get out of this. One minute; the lanthorn first.”

The doctor raised the lanthorn, and his first act was to blow it out before joining at the rope and hauling the searcher to the platform.

“What is it, sir?” cried Griggs anxiously.

“Come and see,” was the reply.

The doctor made his way through the hole and crossed the chamber into which it opened, before entering the next, closely followed by the boys and Griggs, who caught up their rifles as they passed them, dragging the ropes as they went.

As they entered the second chamber it was to see the doctor join Bourne at the window-opening, while beyond them stood Wilton sheltering himself behind a patch of bushy growth hanging from above, as he stood watching something intently through the doctor’s double glass.

“See any more, Wilton?” said the doctor anxiously.

“Scores,” was the reply, given without the speaker turning his head. “You can see for yourself; they’re collecting together on the very edge of the cliff away there, and at first they stood gazing down into the depression.”

“Do you think they saw you?” said the doctor hoarsely.

“Oh no, I feel sure that they did not at first, and I have kept in shelter since; but they have caught sight of something else.”

“What?” cried Griggs.

“Ah! You there?” said Wilton sharply. “You had better come and have a look through this glass; you may be able to tell what race they are.”

“Perhaps,” said Griggs shortly; “but what is it they can see?”

“The ponies and mules.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes; there was one of the men, a chief apparently, pointing down at them. I could see it plainly through the glass.”

“Indians, Ned,” whispered Chris. “They must have been following us all this time, and we’re in for it now.”

Chapter Thirty Eight.

Besieged.

Not a word was said then for some minutes, during which the glass was passed from one to the other, and long, excited looks taken at the strong body of bronze, half-nude warriors seated upon their ponies close to the edge of the flat-topped range of cliffs, some four or five hundred feet above the bottom of the depression.

The Indians were evidently looking down at something in front of the ranges of openings which formed the old-world city, and it took no thinking, after the party were once confident that they were not seen, to decide what it was that took the attention of the roving tribe.

It was Chris who repeated Wilton’s words.

“They’re watching the mules and ponies,” he said. “I saw one fellow point at them when I had the glass to my eyes.”

“And that is as good as saying that they are watching us,” said Ned sadly.

“Oh no,” cried the doctor. “They can see some beasts grazing in this verdant bottom; they can’t tell at this distance that they are not wild.”

“Why, father,” said Chris, “they have been hunting us for long enough.”

“My dear boy, do you suppose that there is only one roving band of Indians in all these thousands of square miles of wild country?”

“I—I—don’t know, father,” was the reply.

“Then you may take it as highly probable that these are not the Indians we saw before.”

“But they know that the mules and ponies are tame.”

“How, when they are nearly half-a-mile away? There is neither bridle nor saddle to be seen.”

“Oh no, of course not,” said Chris, brightening up. “Then, after having a good look at them, the band will ride right away.”

“That is doubtful,” said the doctor gravely.

“Why, they can’t get down there.”

“No, but they can make a long détour and get down to the gulch, and then make their way into the depression and capture us all, men and boys, ponies and mules.”

“Oh!” ejaculated Chris. Then quickly, “How long will it take them to get round?”

“I wish I knew, my boy,” said the doctor sadly. “We ought to have explored the gulch and seen how it was connected with the tableland yonder. But there, it is of no use to regret the past; we must think about the present.”

“Yes,” grunted Griggs, and his voice roused the doctor into action.

“What do you say, Griggs?” he cried. “My idea is to wait till the enemy—I suppose we must look upon them as the enemy—have gone out of sight, and that we then load up and retreat as fast as we can.”

“Too late,” said Griggs gruffly; “we may come right upon them.”

“Yes, if they make their way to the mouth of the gulch. They may be content with seeing that there is a herd of strange animals here, and then ride away.”

“Some folk might,” said Griggs quietly, “but not Indians.”

“Then what do you think will be best?”

“Drive the animals up to the other end of the place, and then take possession of a couple of the rooms here in the face of the rocks, stop up the shaft, and keep the enemy at bay with our rifles.”

The doctor frowned.

“It may be a false alarm,” he said.

“Yes, may be,” said Griggs; “but I don’t believe it is, sir. Don’t you go and think that I want to fight. Nothing of the kind, but I’m afraid we shall have to. Why, we could keep all that lot at bay for any length of time.”

“But it would be desperate work.”

“Yes, sir, they’d make us desperate; but it would be their own doing. We could bring up our provisions into the chamber nearest the water, and command it with our rifles so that they couldn’t get to it. They’ve only got to leave us alone and there’d be no desperate work.”

“But they may be friendly Indians.”

“I never heard of any out in these wilds, sir,” said Griggs grimly.

“But they might be friendly,” said Bourne eagerly.

“So much the better, sir. Then there’d be no harm done. I’d trust the Indians up north so long as they were not on the warpath, but I shouldn’t like to trust any of these.”

“Then you’d prepare for the worst?”

“That’s the only way to deal with these people, sir,” said the American sternly. “If they see that we’re weak they’ll take our mules and ponies, and perhaps our lives—at once. If they take our animals and leave us alone they’ve taken our lives all the same, for we could never reach civilisation again without our beasts.”

“No,” said the doctor firmly. “I should have liked to retreat if we could.”

“We couldn’t do it,” said Wilton sharply, as he took his eyes from the glass. “There would not be time, and if we could get away they’d follow our trail and take us at a disadvantage, for certain.”

“Yes,” said the doctor; “there is no other chance. As you suggest, Griggs, if they find us strong they will fear us. We must decide at once which of the cells we will hold, and get our stores there as quickly as possible.”

“That is already settled, sir,” said the American coolly. “We must hold the place where we can reach the water, and the lowest floor here is the one.”

“You are confident, then, that they couldn’t get at us from above?”

“Quite, sir. The attack, if it comes, will be from below, as it was made once before.”

Chris and Ned exchanged glances as they recalled all that they had seen and the result to the defenders, and a blank look of despair settled in their countenances.

As it happened the doctor was watching them keenly at the time, his breast full of anxiety for the lads about to be brought face to face with such grave peril, and he spoke out cheerfully as if in answer to the thoughts he had just read in their faces.

“Yes,” he said, “but you forget. Those people had to defend themselves with stones. We have the best of modern firearms, and can deal out death and destruction to our enemies from a distance while we are sheltered and quite beyond their reach. Well, Wilton, what do you make out?”

“They are all gathered closely together, pretty well a hundred strong,” was the reply, “and one man—the chief, I suppose—is haranguing the rest. He keeps on gesticulating and pointing down at the mules, and then waving his hands in different directions as if to show which way they ought to go.”

“Well,” said the doctor, “we must not stir until they move off. They evidently have not seen us, and they may after all believe the animals to be wild.”

“Yes, sir; and it’s no use to show ourselves till we are obliged. We’ll drive the beasts right up the valley here as soon as the coast’s clear, and then keep in hiding and try what a shot or two from where they don’t show will act. If we bring down a man and a horse or two they may turn back in a state of superstitious panic. It’s a good deal to hope for, but it might turn out so.”

“At any rate it’s the best plan,” said the doctor. “So be ready to act as soon as the enemy disappears, and then we must pray for time.”

Indian palavers are long and tedious, and the chief addressing the tribe talked for long enough, and was succeeded, so Wilton reported, by others, during all which time the watchers kept carefully out of sight and waited in a state of suspense that was almost unbearable.

“At last!” cried the doctor, as the body of horsemen began to move off. “Watch them carefully, Wilton, and see if you can make out how they are armed.”

“That’s plain enough,” said the member of the party addressed; “they nearly all have long spears.”

“That means bows and arrows as well, I should say,” cried Griggs. “Indians who carry spears have not learned to use rifles, as a rule. Hah! There they go, riding straight back from the edge. I shouldn’t wonder if they have a long distance to go, right back over a plain, before they can get round the mountains. They must come by the same gulch as we did, and perhaps they’ve got to find it first.”

“Think so?” said Bourne, putting the question that was on Chris’s lips. “They may be thoroughly acquainted with all this place.”

“It’s just as likely that they’ve never looked down into it before,” said Griggs. “They belong to a roving band, and the country here is very big.”

“Ah, there goes the last of them,” cried Wilton, closing and shutting up the glasses.

“Give them a few minutes’ law,” cried the doctor, “just to make sure that they have gone. Then down to the camp as quickly as possible, load up, and bring everything up to the foot of the slope, unload, and I’ll drive the poor brutes up to the other end while you folks get the stores under cover.”

“But suppose the enemy come while you are away doing the driving?” cried Chris excitedly.

“We’ll suppose nothing of the sort, my boy,” said the doctor sternly. Then with a pleasant smile, “If they do come while I’m away you’ll all have to cover me with your rifles while I fight my way back. Now then, time’s up. Down with you, and away.”

As soon as they could get clear of the ruins there was a rush made for the camp, the grazing animals being driven before them to where the stores were heaped, and going quietly enough, associating the sacks and barrels with feeding-time, though fated to be neglected!

The stores once reached, hot and nervous work began, in which Chris had no share, his duty being to mount his mustang and act the part of scout.

His instructions were very few; he knew what to do. That was to ride back to the gulch, and select a good spot, one which combined two advantages, commanding a far-reaching view down the wild approach, while affording good cover and concealment for him.

He started at once, riding off and giving two good long earnest looks at the busy party placing their loads on the mules’ backs.

Then a turn amongst the rocks hid him from sight, and the boy felt his heart sink, in spite of the way in which he braced himself up for his task, for the gulch looked more and more dark and forbidding as he rode on, the sides closed in closer, it seemed, than they had been when he came, and as he strained his eyes forward along the trackless way, bush after bush and rock after rock in the distance sent his heart, as it were, with a bound to his throat, so nearly did his imagination make these objects approach the aspect of savage Indians riding slowly towards him.

But a second glance generally resolved them into what they were, fancy paintings, and he bit his lips fiercely with annoyance as he called himself coward and one quite unfit for such a task.

He had ridden onward for some time before he found a post that seemed in any way suitable, for the gulch turned and doubled and zigzagged here and there in a way that gave him sadly shortened views, and he was at last about to turn back to the best place he had passed, bad as it was, when he recognised a corner in front as being formed by a rock that he remembered seeing for long enough on their approach, one that never seemed to get any nearer, and to his joy when he now reached it he found everything he desired—command of the gulch for quite a mile, plenty of cover to hide him and his pony from the view of those who came along, and, what was very acceptable then, a tiny basin of pure cold water in which his mustang gladly plunged its muzzle for a long, deep drink.

Then with a sigh of relief the scout took up his position to watch for the coming danger, knowing as he did that he had only to draw back a few yards for the great elbow-like rock to cover his retreat so that he could hurry away with the warning of danger and give all time to seek the cells that they were to defend.

“They ought to have loaded up by now,” he said to himself, “and all has turned out splendidly, while perhaps after all the Indians may never find this deep, dark gulch. It was only by accident that we did.”

Chris had just comforted himself with this notion when a horrible thought assailed him. It was this—

All the way he came he had been keeping up a good lookout in front for the approaching danger, and had never once thought of looking up to right or left for some narrow side valley or gash by which the danger might suddenly descend into the narrow way.

The thought was so terrible that he turned cold and looked back, half-expecting to see a group of the bronze warriors in his rear; and then his too busy imagination pictured more, the whole band in fact riding down by the gash in the rocks that he ought to have seen, and stealthily coming on to surprise those whom it had been his duty to save.

For some minutes his fancy gained ground to such an extent that the boy was completely unnerved. And no wonder, for the gloom of the great gulch with its perpendicular sides towering up to a vast height, the solitary grandeur, the silence, and the oppression wrought by the tremendous nature of his task, began to be more than his young nature could bear.

For some little time he sank into a state of despair. To use his own words, in which he thought of his brain power as something mechanical that had been wound up, his head seemed as if it would not “go.”

In fact, to use a homely phrase, he was so prostrated by the thought that, in spite of his care and the stern duties of the task that he had been set to do, he had passed some side opening by which the Indians might come down and attack the unarmed camp, that he wanted “shaking up” to bring him to himself.

He had that very shaking up literally, for all at once his pony stretched out its neck, spread its legs widely, and gave itself a violent shake, one which threatened to dislodge the saddle before the beast subsided, and Chris settled himself again in his seat.

“It’s all fancy,” he said to himself; “I must have seen such a gorge or ravine if there had been one. The Indians must come along here in front. Mounted men can’t ride down precipitous slopes.”

With this thought to comfort him the boy sat watching the open part in front from his cover, perfectly satisfied that the only portions of him visible to a coming enemy were his face and hat, while to add to his protection, in case any of the Indians’ advance-guard should suddenly ride into sight, Chris dismounted, cut a few tufts of heather-like brush, and stuck them at random through the band of his soft felt covering.

“There,” he said in a satisfied way, as he replaced his hat, “that will look at a distance as if it were growing. I’ve a good mind to rub my face with mud.”

Whether he would have so disfigured himself is doubtful, but certainly he could not, for there was no mud, nothing but a little beautifully clean sand in the bottom of the rock-pool into which the falling water splashed.

So Chris sat there thinking and straining his eyes along the narrow gulch, seeing no Indians, but the bright light on the tops of the rocky sides, while the gulch itself, always gloomy, now began to darken as if it were being gradually filled up with a flood of black velvet in a liquid state.

The pony dropped its head more and more; not to browse, for the bit held him a prisoner from that, but because it was an easy position, and in the silence Chris listened to the heavy breathing of the animal and felt the action of its sides as they rose and sank.

“They ought to have got all the stores into the cells by this time,” thought Chris. “I wish I could have helped. It seems so lazy just sitting here. But of course it makes them feel safer. But what a horrible nuisance it is for Indians to be coming to disturb us. I hope it won’t come to a fight. How horrible to have to shoot them!—Much more horrible for them to shoot us.”

Chris’s thoughts became less active, and then concentrated themselves upon the extremity of his eye scope, where he believed that he saw a mounted man standing where there was nothing before.

“Pooh! Only a rock,” muttered the boy, after a long and careful inspection. “But how fast it’s getting dark. I shan’t be able to see any enemy soon, and what am I to do then, for I shan’t be able to see anything at all? Why, nothing was said about that,” he thought, “not a word. I didn’t think about being in such a position, and I’m sure father didn’t, or he would have spoken. Now, what would he say to me, I wonder? Something about using my own discretion and acting for the best. Now, what would be the best?”

Chris set his teeth and thought hard so as to decide what would be the proper thing to do.

“Why, it’s all simple enough,” he said to himself at last. “I’m posted here to give them warning when the Indians are coming. Well, if it’s too dark for me to see them coming I can’t give any notice, and if I can’t do what I’m sent here for I should be better back at the camp.”

He looked along the gloomy gulch to see that the light was gone from the crags that shut-in the narrow way, while the bottom of the gulch was black with shadow, so dark that any one approaching would have been perfectly invisible.

“Yes,” he said to himself, “it’s of no use for me to stay here. I can’t see anything, and if the savages rode up it would be too late to try to give warning. I’ll go back.”

But he did not stir, only sat thinking in a fresh groove.

“Father won’t think me cowardly, will he?”

That was a horrible idea, one which made the boy’s cheeks burn for a minute, until his common-sense told him that no such injustice could fall to his lot.

“Of course not,” he argued. “I was sent here to do my best. I’ve done my best, and now I can do no more. I say, how black it is,” he said half-aloud, and then he felt blank, faced as he was by another difficulty—how was he going to get back along the trackless path encumbered with stones and with rifts and tufts of very thorny bushes here and there?

It was a poser.

There was a dull streak of sky overhead, in which a star here and there could be seen blinking and looking pale.

“I can’t see beyond the pony’s head,” thought Chris. “Why, it’s madness to try and ride along a place like this; but it’s horrible to think of sitting here all night, and one couldn’t go to sleep. I’m so hungry too, and—Oh, I say, who’d ever have thought of this? What a mess I’m in!”

There was nothing approaching despair in the boy’s feelings then, neither was there anything akin to fear, unless it was a dread of being suddenly pounced upon by the Indians now.

This thought had quite a comic side to it, and he laughed softly.

“They’d be precious clever—ten times as clever as they’re said to be, with their wonderful sight and hearing—if they did pounce upon me now. Why, look at that.”

It was rather an absurd order which he gave himself, as he stretched out his right-hand at the level of his eye, for to all intents and purposes there was no hand to look at, while as to his pony’s ears, he certainly knew that they were somewhere in front, but that was all.

“Oh, I say,” he sighed, “I am in a mess, and no mistake! If I’d had any gumption in this thick old head I should have slipped a damper cake in my pocket. But who was going to think of eating at a time like that? Perhaps Ned would,” he added, with a soft chuckle; and the idea was so mirthful that he shook a little, but only to grow serious directly.

“There,” he said, “I’ve done my duty, I’m sure, and though I’m in such a hobble things have turned out capitally, and they’ve had plenty of time to get our cliff castle fortified and stored. That’s splendid, and I won’t fidget about the Indians, for they can’t come till to-morrow, and perhaps they’ll never come at all. But I say, this is coming to search for the old gold city! I believe I’d rather have stopped at the plantation killing blight and scratching the scale insects off the peach-twigs. Here, I say, old chap!”

He addressed this to the pony, but there was no suggestion of his address having been heard, so obeying a sudden impulse he dropped out of the saddle, readjusted the sling of his rifle, and then tightened the saddle-girths before going to the pony’s head, to feel the head-stall all over, and stroke and pat the little cob-like animal’s neck, ending by passing its ears through his hand, and then passing the back against the velvety muzzle, with the result that his companion whinnied with satisfaction.

“Now, old chap,” he said, “we’ve got to get home, and I may as well be honest. I can’t guide you, and I’ll let you have your head all the way, and make you up a nice mash of meal in one of the buckets when we get there for a reward. Think you can do it?”

“Yes,” said the boy, after a pause; “silence gives consent, as I once read somewhere. Now, which shall I do, ride or lead you? I shall ride, for if I lead you it will be all a sham, and I shall only be getting you into difficulties. So there: I’ll trust you. Take your time. Want any water?”

The boy pulled the little animal’s head towards where he believed the water to be, but it did not stretch out its neck, so he mounted again.

“Now then,” he said, “back to camp.”

The pony started at once, but Chris drew rein.

“No, no; that won’t do. That’s right, turn round. We don’t want to go any farther to-night. Now then, steady. Don’t fall and pitch me over your head. The way’s right on, and you can’t go off right or left. Ck! That’s right. When you feel in doubt about a stone or hole or a bush, stop short and I’ll get down and feel about for you.—Well done!”

This last was in admiration, for without the slightest hesitation the pony had set off, pacing steadily back along the way they had come, but with its head very low-down, as Chris realised by the steady draw that had been given at the reins.

“Talk about eyes,” muttered Chris, “why, they’re microscopes. I say, though, I mustn’t go to sleep. I believe I could without falling off. It wouldn’t be fair, though, for I ought to let him hear my voice now and then.”

All the same Chris was perfectly silent, and spent his time gazing hard upward at the long jagged ribbon of black purple, now gemmed with brilliant stars, which spread along overhead. From time to time he looked forward to try and make out obstacles in front, but he could see nothing; there was naught to do but listen to the pony’s footsteps and think of what they were doing at camp and what they would be saying about his non-return.

“Father won’t go to sleep to-night,” said Chris, with a sigh of satisfaction caused by the idea. “He’ll be awake and listening for my pony’s steps, and—Oh, how far must it be?

“A good many yards less than it was a minute ago, and it’s getting a shorter distance with every step my mustang takes.”

And onward they went, cheerfully enough, through the black darkness at the bottom of the gulch, the pony never failing, never setting hoof in hole nor stumbling over stone or bush. It stopped for a moment now and then to turn aside or to make sure of some difficulty which needed an outstretched neck, a touch with the muzzle, or a sigh; but otherwise it travelled on slowly but surely through the earlier part of the night, while Chris thought till he could think no longer, and began to ride with his shoulders up, his chin in his chest, and a tendency to bow right down upon his mount’s neck. But he never did that once, only clung with a dreamy feeling of safety, with his knees against the saddle-flaps and his feet fast in the stirrups.

“I must not go to sleep,” he muttered once; but he did all the same, instinctively tightening his hold by means of his abnormally-strained muscles the while.

Chapter Thirty Nine.

Among the Hornets.

It had been a day of severe exertion mentally and bodily, during which the boy’s nature had done its best; but the time came at last when it could do no more, and he rode on at that steady walk, sleeping profoundly, so deeply that he did not know when the mustang suddenly stopped short as if in doubt, and stood with ears pointed forward sniffing at the stones beneath its hoofs, wrested them to the right and again to the left, as if there was some taint in the air. Then the doubt increased, and it bore to the right, stopped, bore to the left again, sniffed more loudly, lowered its head and sniffed again, uttered a low sigh, and resumed its steady walk, on and on, for how long Chris never knew, but hours had passed and he was back again in the square hole which Griggs termed a trap, listening to what he said about the stones which covered the bottom while he made the soft glow of the lanthorn play before his eyes.

Then all at once the dream gave place to the real, and Chris was half-conscious.

It took some moments before he realised that he was gripping a saddle with stiffening knees and riding forward, and he couldn’t tell why. At last, though, a mist seemed to fade away from his thinking powers, and he knew what it all meant. He was riding, and he had been to sleep.

But why? What for?

The answer to those questions came in due course, and he sighed with weariness.

“Oh dear,” he muttered, “I wonder how far it is now. Nearly as far as before,” he thought, for he couldn’t have been asleep more than a minute.

Then for another minute he was confused upon looking at the soft faint glow of the lanthorn held by Griggs in the trap.

“What nonsense!” he said peevishly. “How muddled my head is. But that’s a light over there. Why!—I say!—Oh!”

His whole feelings changed as he uttered those interjections, and the tones of his voice were as if the words were positive, comparative, and superlative.

“We must be close to the valley,” he thought. “The Indians can’t have come, and father has had a camp-fire kept up as a guide for me, and I’ll be bound to say there’ll be something cooking, because he’ll think of how hungry I shall be.

“There’s a good old dad,” he said to himself, beginning to feel bright and happy now, and as invigorated as if he had partaken of refreshment.

“Well, I am glad, and I am hungry, and I’ll say so too. I don’t care if old Ned sneers when I say I am, and tells me that I’m worse than he is. Oh, hooray! You good old mustang! You’re the best pony that ever lived, and I love you as much as a fellow can love a nag. Just think of you bringing me straight back all through that black gulch—me asleep too! There, old chap,” he continued, patting the little animal’s neck, “I won’t forget your mash. You shall have it before I eat a morsel. I wouldn’t take a hundred pounds for you if any one offered it; but nobody will, and I don’t want it if he did.

“Yes,” he continued, as the pony paced steadily on, “they’ve got a good fire, and it must be very near now. Sniff, sniff. Why, it’s meat roasting. My! It does smell good! Shall I coo-ee and let them know I’m so close? No, I’ll ride right up into the light and surprise them. Father will be wide awake watching for me, and old Ned’ll be snoring, I know. He might have sat up too. I should have done so for him, because I should have felt uneasy about what had happened. Sniff! Sniff! I wonder what they’ve got! It smells like mutton. How did they manage to get it? Not one of those mountain-sheep?”

A shrill low whinny from right ahead where the fire was burning brightly now and casting shadows from the trees and bushes, and also bringing into sight a tall figure seated as it were in the air, till Chris recognised the fact that it was a mounted man.

“Father waiting to ride out and meet me,” thought Chris, as a thrill ran through him, caused by the answering whinny of his mustang.

The next moment, as the boy was about to urge it forward right into the light, there was a hoarse yell, more shadows appeared in the bright glow, and Chris stopped to seize his neglected rein, and drag his pony’s head round, urging it with hand and voice to bound away along the returning track, for in the bright light of the fire the boy had fully awakened to the fact that he had been riding straight for an Indian encampment, right in amongst the enemies he had been trying so hard to avoid.

Chapter Forty.

An Unconscious Double.

It was all Chris could do in his excitement and alarm to keep from crying aloud to his pony to go faster and faster, though after a few strides it seemed as if the rider’s fear was communicated, and it was tearing over the rocky ground with all its might, making the stones fly as they were smitten in the furious gallop. But fortunately not a word escaped between the boy’s firmly-set teeth.

Settling himself well down in the saddle, he felt that his only chance of saving himself from being a prisoner, perhaps from a horrible death, was to trust entirely to his pony, leave it free to go as it willed.

Of the character of his pursuers there was no doubt. They were Indians, the regular savage Indians of the plains, whose cruelties to settlers were the theme of many a horrible story told at camp-fire and in solitary shanty. Chris knew of their deeds well enough, but it had never entered his mind that the time would come when he would be tearing through the darkness over the rugged stones of a rocky gulch, flying for his life with an ever-increasing pack baying and yelling at his heels.

For during the first minute or two he had been chased by three or four; after that the numbers, as betrayed by their yells, rapidly increased, till as they secured their pegged-out horses and sprang upon their backs, fully fifty must have joined in the chase.

They were well mounted, too, upon the tough, wiry horses of the plains, quite at home on the roughest of ground, and at first as Chris tore on they seemed to be gaining upon him fast; but their savage yells, however much they alarmed, had another effect upon Chris’s mustang, making the gallant little beast toss its long mane, raise its long, plume-like tail till it floated out behind, and stretching out neck and legs, its length growing closer to the track, it tore away like a greyhound, avoiding obstacles as if by some occult force, and making the air whistle by the fugitive’s ears.

Chris could ride well. Many a leading race he had indulged in against Ned on the open prairie-like land long before this expedition, while since then the tedium of their journey had often been lightened by a mad gallop, as much enjoyed by the steeds as by those they bore swiftly along over the level sands; but the boy had never ridden before as he rode now. For he seemed to form part and parcel of the wiry little mustang, as he leaned over towards its straining neck to pat and caress and now and then twine the thick hairs of the mane about the fingers of his right-hand, the left that still held the rein allowing it to flap lower against the neck, while each pat and caress was responded to by a snort.

That seemed no time for thinking, but Chris thought hard—harder than he had ever thought before. He was not afraid, for there was a strange feeling of excitement, a wild thrill of exhilaration, accompanying the race, which made him long once more to shout aloud. For himself he thought nothing, but his thoughts were of his father, and the agony and despair he would suffer if it so happened that his boy was captured and slain; and by degrees these thoughts impressed him so that his desires became centred in one, and that was, to gallop away from the savage pack, leaving them far behind, and riding on and on till he could rejoin his father in triumph and tell him that he was safe.

There were moments in that wild race when Chris’s excitement grew into fierce exultation, when the stones were flying, the pony’s hot breath floating back to his cheeks, and the yelling of the savages began to grow faint; and then again moments when the mustang’s efforts seemed to flag and the yells of the Indians increasing in loudness came nearer and nearer, till the boy had hard work to keep from wrenching himself round in the saddle to try and pierce the black darkness to gaze defiantly at the fierce starting eyeballs and gleaming teeth of those who were hunting him for his blood.

These changes came again and again as the mustang tore along, now leaving the yells behind, now slackening or seeming to slacken, till the Indians’ whoops were very near, ringing behind and even passing the fugitive, to run echoing from side to side multiplying the burst of cries.

Then all at once the chase settled down into a wilder gallop, as a feeling of terror influenced the boy.

“We must be getting nearer the stone in the middle of the gulch where I hid,” thought Chris, “and he’ll run full into it.”

But the next moment he felt that they could not be half-way yet, and his ears began to sing in the darkness as the yells of the Indians sounded louder and louder, while the echoes given back by the closing-in walls were deafening.

Nearer and nearer they sounded—those savage yells—and once more Chris leaned forward to caress the mustang’s neck.

“Oh, go on, old lad,” he whispered; “faster, faster, or they’ll have us.” And then the whisper, unheard in the turmoil of yell and echo, became a cry of agony embodied in the simple homely words which told of the boy’s suffering and the despair now gripping him by the heart, for out of the black darkness came a fresh burst of yells that were horrible in their intensity, and full of triumph in their tones, as if those who shouted were certain of their quarry. Chris’s heart sank low indeed, for the end seemed to have come. Involuntarily now both hands clutched and clung to the pony’s shaggy mane.

For just as it seemed to the fugitive that the foremost horses were upon him and their riders’ hands were outstretched to tear him from his saddle, the mustang made a sudden swerve and what seemed to be a slip.

But it did not go down, recovering itself in an instant, but only to drop from a furious gallop into a laboured canter which became directly after a painful walk, while Chris felt as if he had received a blow which had stupefied him, deadening his hearing so that he only heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs and the yelling of the riders as if from a distance, growing fainter and fainter till they died away.

“What’s the matter? Am I hurt?” panted the boy, as, passing the rein over his wrist, he clapped his hands to his temples, sitting upright and swaying with his pony’s movements the while.

The only answer was the hoarse panting of the pony as, evidently striving hard, it kept on at the walk, full of effort, and Chris began to grasp the fact that in the swerve made by the plucky little steed the Indians had swept by at full gallop, while, unnoticed in the darkness, the pony had turned up the side gorge which his master had passed in coming and passed again upon his return, being fast asleep, when the mustang had stopped to sniff and hesitate, and finally chosen the way which led them right into the Indians’ camp.

“Why, they’ve missed us,” exclaimed Chris, whose heart began now to beat wildly in the fresh excitement of the moment. For his head was still confused, and he was trying hard to make out how it was that the Indians had managed to pass him earlier in the evening, even now being too much puzzled to make out the mistake that had occurred.

For in the great darkness of the narrow gorge they were ascending the boy’s brain seemed to participate. He could not grasp that by this narrow descent the Indians had gained the gulch directly after he had passed to take up his position as scout. In short, all he had room for in his head then was the one great thought, that for the present, thanks to the pony, he had escaped, and for the minor piece of easily-grasped knowledge that the panting beast was toiling—literally climbing up a very steep and narrow rift in the side of the cliff; where he was going and what was to be the end, he could not tell.

After a time the efforts of the pony grew less; it ceased to drag itself up as if forcing its hoofs into the crevices of the rock to climb foot by foot. The way was still steep, and the darkness so thick that for a time Chris could make out nothing of the sides; but in time the strip of purply-black sky gemmed with stars became wider, the edges not so ragged, and all at once it struck the boy that they were not climbing over stones, for the sound of the hoofs was deadened.

This lasted for a time, during which Chris began to breathe more easily as he looked about him and questioned himself as to where he was, while little by little the facts came to fit themselves together like the pieces of a puzzle which now seemed very simple, so that it only needed a fresh act on the part of the mustang to make all clear.

Fully a couple of hours must have passed since the wild hunt in which he had been the quarry; but there it all was now, as the pony stopped suddenly, lowered its head, and began to crop steadily with the sounds so familiar to the hearer, at the soft grass down to which Chris now sprang, to stand looking about him.

“Of course,” he said. “We must have climbed up here to what father called the tableland, and somewhere farther on, I suppose, we should come to the edge of the cliff and look down into the valley with the openings facing one.

“But not now,” he said, with a shudder, as he thought of the perpendicular character of the cliff-faces.

“Yes, that’s all clear now; the Indians must have come along here while I was going along the gulch, and soon after I had passed they got down and turned the other way, making for the valley, and getting in perhaps before my people had secured all the stores and things. Oh, what have I done?” he cried bitterly. “Failed—horribly failed! Now how am I to find out what has happened since? Has there been a terrible fight? Can I go down now and see?

“No—no—no,” came three dreary answers. “Part of the Indians may be down there by the built-up cliffs; the others will be coming back soon; and what could I do in this darkness, with it far darker in the valley?

“If I only knew what has happened since!” he said, with a groan full of despair, as, dropping down upon the soft turf, half-sitting, half-kneeling, he gazed in the direction where he supposed the great hollow to be, listened to the crop—crop—crop of the grazing beast, and wondered how long it would be before the daylight came.

It was long—a long and weary time, for there was no sleepy sensation now. Chris had had his first taste of a very real danger. He could not hide from himself the knowledge that he had been quite near the end of all his bright, hopeful aspirations. The chase after him had been so savage that he had no faith in being made a well-treated prisoner. The Indians had been too ready and too fierce in their onslaught to show mercy, and there was a sickening feeling at his heart respecting what might have happened during his long absence. Perhaps they had attacked his friends directly after reaching the valley, and if so they had probably received such a lesson as explained their savage demonstration upon seeing him.

“It will all be made clear,” thought the boy, “as soon as the day comes.” But all the same he did not feel at all confident about what he asserted, neither did he feel at all happy about himself.

“How am I to get back to the valley?” he said. “I suppose it would be easy enough to go down that steep slope into the gulch, but I should be sure to find some of the savages waiting for me there, and even if there were none I don’t suppose they all came after me. There were sure to be some left in their camp.

“What can I do?” he muttered. “There is no other way into the valley, and what can I do alone?”

He had seated himself in the darkness to watch the stars slowly seeming to pass from east to west, and as he said half-aloud those words about being alone he slowly fingered the revolver-holster on one side of his belt and the hunting-knife in its sheath, which done, he pulled at the strap which slung his rifle, and getting it round to the front he rested it upon his knees, and began mechanically to examine the breech as if to make sure that he had cartridges in each barrel.

They were there safe enough, and he closed the breech and was about to drag the piece into its regular place again; but something struck him which made him get the rifle back into position, re-open the breech, and take out one of the cartridges, before opening his pouch and exchanging it for another.

A curious sensation ran through the boy’s frame as he did this. He felt uncomfortable and as if he were about to do some wrong thing, for the cartridge he withdrew was filled with number six shot such as he would use for killing small birds that they could use for their meals, while the one he inserted in its place contained a long conical bullet, and he knew he was not putting that ready in case he should encounter a bear.

He would not own it to himself—he dreaded to think about it—but all the while he could not help feeling that it must be a duty to defend his own life, and certainly was one to try and protect his father and his friends.

But Chris Lee was uncomfortable all the same, and tried hard to keep all such thoughts back, as he once more began to watch the stars, and listened to the crop, crop of the pony, which seemed to be revelling in the soft, dew-wet grass, whose pleasant odour rose to his nostrils as the animal kept on uttering the familiar blowing sound to drive away insects before nibbling off tufts and grinding them between its fine teeth.

“Poor fellow,” he said softly; “he saved my life.”

And then he remarked to himself upon its being strange that the mustang did not go far away from him, but evidently preferred grazing round and round as if it were pleasanter to keep close to its companion, man.

It was a long, long time, during which, without once feeling the want of rest, Chris still watched the stars, before he uttered a sigh of relief, for they were certainly growing paler and there was a faint suggestion of light just where, he reflected, the east would lie. Moreover, he was where he had hoped he might find himself, and that was not far from opposite the piece of terraced cliff where he hoped that his friends might be.

He went at once to the pony and led it with him, now moving very cautiously for fear of danger, towards the edge of the cliff, in the hope that as it grew lighter some one might catch sight of him and wave him a signal that he might take as a piece of advice.

But it was still dark below, and he knew the folly of expecting to see any one looking up to where he stood, feeling in his heart that it was far more likely that they might be lying in wait for his return far away towards the entrance of the gully, ready to cover his retreat if he made an attempt to rush in.

“But I can’t,” he said to himself dolefully. “It’s impossible to get down there.”

He wanted to get close to the edge of the cliff, to stand above the ranges of cells facing those they had explored; but it was still too dark, for he knew not what rifts or precipitous places might score the tableland upon which he stood; and the day was coming so slowly, while he grew more impatient minute by minute.

There were moments when he thought it would be unwise to expose himself on the top, for if there were Indians in the depression looking sharply about, according to their nature, he would be showing where they could stand a better chance of hunting him down in the full light of day. But if they did attempt such a thing he began wondering whether it would be possible to lead them a long chase, gradually working round till he could make a dash for the gulch and so join his friends.

He could not help feeling that there was little likelihood of this, and then his attention was taken up by the strengthening of the light away to his right, and he started with surprise to see that, from a different point of view of course, he could look upon the very spot where Wilton had caught sight of the Indians gazing down into the valley before drawing back and taking evidently a long round to reach the narrow ravine which had afforded him an outlet of escape.

It was growing light now fast, as he stood holding his pony’s rein, and he began to follow the track that the Indians must have taken from the head of the depression, now full in view, bearing round to his right until they reached the ravine up which he had come. He tried to make out where that might be, but it was darker there, and for some time, eager as he was to locate the spot for reasons connected with using it again as a means of escape, though in a reverse way, it was some time before he could make out where the gradual descent from the tableland began.

But the reason was very simple. It was dim there, the eastern light not touching that part, and for another reason he was not looking far enough away from the edge of the cliffs by about a couple of miles. But as the day broadened the way of escape was revealed in a manner which took his breath away, for there, clearly seen in the pale morning light, was the head of a long line of mounted men, the first half-dozen in full view, the others diminishing in height slowly as they ascended the slope, three-quarters, half, a quarter length, so that the last man’s head alone was visible, and growing slowly as it seemed to be rising from the earth.

“After us, old chap,” cried Chris bitterly, to his pony. “Now then, are you rested? It’s going to be another ride for life.

“Which way?” he almost groaned, the next moment, as he looked wildly round. “Oh, why did we come to hunt for this wretched gold?”

Chapter Forty One.

Playing Frog.

It seemed to Chris as if any attempt at hiding would be folly, for if he could see the enemy where the light was not so clear he felt certain that the Indians must have seen him and the pony at once, standing up plainly against the brightening sky.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said to himself, as he sprang upon the pony’s back, and felt better directly. For as the sturdy little animal began to move springily along, fresh vigour seemed to run through the boy’s nerves, and he looked sharply round again.

“There must be some way for us to escape,” he cried aloud, “and they shall have a long gallop before they catch us.”

He paused for a few moments to look down into the valley and across at the towering up rows of broken openings on the other side of the depression, feeling the while that to stay anywhere near the edge of the precipice was only to hasten his surrender, for the distance from the edge to the level bottom of the valley seemed terrible, so giddy and full of horror for him who fell, that Chris literally wrenched his eyes away, to sweep the horizon till he had made up his mind which was the most open and level part of the tableland to select for the wild gallop to come.

“I did hope to have seen some one over yonder,” he muttered bitterly, “but I suppose they are asleep and don’t know what danger I am in. There, off with you, old lad,” he cried aloud, shaking the rein. “No, no—steady; it’s going to be a long ride, and you mustn’t be pumped out for hours to come. That’s better; a nice gentle canter. Well done! How light and easy you do go.”

It was as if the beautiful little animal understood its rider’s words. It certainly did his caresses, for it snorted loudly, tossed up its head, and then bending it down with neck finely arched, it progressed in bound after bound as if it were a joy to be cantering along that high level ground in the pure elastic air.

Chris gave his mount another pat or two upon the neck, and then settling himself in his saddle he turned his head to watch the Indians.

In an instant he had learned that not only could they see him but they had grasped his intention as to the way in which he sought to escape. For directly after, three of them had darted out of the line and gone off at full speed, opening out the while, with the evident intention of cutting off their victim.

Chris was ready, and after riding a little way so as to give the enemy time, he suddenly bore upon his rein and changed his course.

But as soon as this was seen, three more of the Indians started off to turn him away from the open country in that direction.

Again Chris changed, each time increasing his speed; but in this, and in the efforts which followed, the Indians grasped his ideas, and they galloped out to cut him off, till after trial following trial the fugitive found that his efforts to escape in that way could only result in tiring out his mustang, and so cleverly had the enemy manoeuvred that they had cast, as it were, a line round him, a semicircle whose chord was the edge of the depression, towards which when it pleased them and they felt certain, they could press him back, gradually contracting their line till he was completely in their power.

Chris drew rein to sit watching the enemy for a few minutes, and breathing his mount while he decided as to what he must do.

The decision was soon arrived at. There was the open country with Indians dotted at intervals ready to close in, but all the same that was the only way of escape, for fully twenty sat like statues upon their horses across the open part which gradually contracted to form the jaws of the ravine down which he would have liked to turn.