“Listen: You are to follow me quietly out of this place and down the stone steps—the steps of sacrifice. There is a little path which we can take past the boiling lake, and we can get out of town by it, for, besides the lake, there are only a few houses, as the steam makes it unpleasant for people to live there. “I think we can get out of the town, as the night is dark, and the steam, which is bad to-night, makes the air even thicker.” He had dropped, or forgotten, nearly all of his dialect, his words showing now, in his haste and excitement, that once, at any rate, he had been a man of some education and attainments. “When you reach the horses you will find the child there, tied up by the bushes. My Indian friend has stolen him and placed him there, and I had him give the kid a sleeping drink to keep him from making any noise. It sounds cruel, but it seemed necessary. “But I’m wasting too much time. No,” he said, as Wild Bill sought to take him by the hand, “I don’t feel worthy to touch the hand of any honest and upright white man. You know why. But perhaps I can right things this way, and I want to, and I’ll take the risk. It will not be so great, and Itzlan will stand by me and protect me, no matter what comes.” They heard him turn about. “Follow me,” he whispered. “And take your shoes off, Schnitzenhauser. It wouldn’t be a bad idea if all of you removed your shoes. We’ve got to be silent as death itself, for if these Toltecs woke up to what’s happening, not one of us would live ten minutes. There’s a guard in front of the prison, but none out by that boiling lake. Even those guards are ignorant of this secret door. Now, follow me.” They heard him fumbling along the wall and were sure he was searching for the hidden spring which moved the door. “The horses were left out on the plain, for pasturage,” he said, as if this were an afterthought, “so that my Indian had no trouble in placing them where I told him to. The worst trouble was with the child. I had to steal the kid out from under the nose of one of the temple priests, and give him into the hands of the Indian. That was as hard a thing to do as anything that is before us.” The hidden spring clicked under his fingers. The scout and his companions were anxious to interrupt, to tell him how grateful they were, and beg his pardon for any wrong they had done by misjudging him, but his manner and the tones of his voice, as well as his direct warnings, kept them silent. They heard the secret door spring open almost noiselessly. “Follow me!” Conover repeated. “And step carefully. There is a flight of stone steps here. Just follow my voice.” He stepped aside, waiting until they had filed silently out of the marble prison; then they heard the snap of the spring of the secret door, as it moved back into place. After that he put himself at their head, and, by whispering to them, directed them where and how to step in order to follow him safely.