The bones were clean and white, and maybe old. But as we stood there concealed in the narrow cleft, there was a rush above us and a great white-necked vulture swept out from the cliff above, and then another and then another, circling down and down on their wide outstretched pinions. We drew farther back into the shelter of the rock, thinking, perchance, they were spying us after the fashion these birds have in desert places where life is scarce, waiting on life for death to come. But no, instead they fluttered down on the farther side, and gathered in ill-omened circle about something. Islam plucked my sleeve. “Come away, quick! Come away! ’Tis a place of ill-omen; these be spirits more like than birds.” But my curiosity was awakened, and, shaking him off, I advanced. As I got close the vultures flapped heavily away, and I saw what their foul wings had hidden. It was a man’s body, of recent date, with no signs of death’s grim decay, and the birds had not yet had time to disfigure it, so that I could see clearly what manner of man he was. A young man but--_white_--as white as I am. And of the manner of his death there was no doubt, for driven through his throat was an arrow, and below him on the ground was a pool of blood which had not yet dried, for when I tried to move him to see his hands it showed wet still. I say his hands, for he lay stretched face upwards, but with his arms twisted under him, and then I perceived that his hands were bound behind him. There were no clothes to show what class of person he had been; whoever had slain him had stripped off all he had. I considered him with care. Features clear-cut like a statue of old time, with short dark-brown curls. Then I noticed the arrow. Black-shafted and steel-barbed, with white marks upon the shaft. Writing surely in some strange tongue. Islam by now had recovered a little of his courage and came over, but just as he reached me a sudden sound above us caused us to fly in unreasoning panic to the cleft whence we had emerged. It was but one of the heavy flying vultures, but it was some time ere we breathed easily again. I stared out once more over the evil-smelling place of stone and sand and bone, dazzling white in the sun between the walls of black rock. Over against us the gateway loomed sinister and silent. The great stone portals were closed, nor were there windows, save on either side some arrow-slits as of an archer’s gallery cut in the rock. “Let us go,” said Islam, “before we also are slain. Whoever killed that yonder must be within the gates.” But curiosity was stronger in me at that moment than fear. “Stay you here, Islam,” I said, “and if aught moves at the gate be ready to shoot.” He was fumbling with his old matchlock.