Elsie was tremblingly eager to follow, but Lennon lacked her fear of the desiccated builders of the cliff house. At one end of the room he had come upon what to him was a very interesting heap of their no less ancient possessions. Most of the beautiful old pottery had been smashed, but among the fragments Lennon found several ceremonial stones and tablets, a bone awl, many obsidian arrowheads, and a few broken turquoise ornaments. His search was cut short by the return of Carmena. She carried a modern Indian basket-vase that would have been very convenient for holding Lennon's collection. But she gave him no chance to ask for it. She stared in at him and Elsie from the doorway, her dark eyes glittering strangely in the candle light. Her lips were hardset in a bitter smile. "He's--asleep. Come," she said. Lennon followed the eager Elsie, who was vastly relieved to leave the mummy vault. Yet she was no less mystified than Lennon by her foster-sister's manner. She shrank back behind him when, after passing through two corn-stacked rooms near the far end of the cliff house, Carmena stopped before an entrance that had been closed with a door of heavy planks. The thick iron hasp was secured with a big padlock. Carmena handed her candle to Lennon and took a key from her basket. "Oh, Mena!" whispered Elsie. "Oh, you can't be going to--to---- You know how angry Dad--and Slade----" For answer, Carmena thrust the key into the padlock. CHAPTER X THE SETTER OF TRAPS The unlocked door squeaked shrilly on its hinges as it swung in before the heave of Carmena's shoulder. Elsie peeped fearfully back past Lennon. Carmena pushed on into the secret room. Lennon had expected to see some kind of treasure chamber. He stared blankly at the big object in the centre of the room--a complex object that somehow reminded him of his laboratory experiments in college. A step nearer, with his own and Carmena's candles upraised, gave him a clear view of the bulging copper boiler, the tubes and worm and fermenting vats. The air of the room was pervaded with a sour smell. At his exclamation Carmena gave him a sombre glance. "You see now?" "A still," he said. "This tizwin you've been talking about--it's moonshine whiskey. Your father----" "No--Slade!" broke in the girl with passionate emphasis. "He brought the thing into the Hole and forced Dad to run it. He's the one to blame--not Dad. He bootlegs it to the Indians." "Indians? That's a Federal penitentiary offense!" "What could we do? If he's convicted, he'll swear that Dad is just as guilty. You see why I couldn't go for the sheriff?" "Yes," said Lennon; but he looked at Elsie. Carmena's face whitened. "If it hadn't been for Dad, there's no telling what Cochise would have done with her. Anyhow, he's my father."