The gulley down which we had come had vanished; only a smooth precipice remained. The chief seemed unperturbed. Perhaps he still had sublime faith in the power of the Book of Kukulcan to safeguard us; perhaps it was merely the stoicism of his race. Gesturing in the direction of down-stream he shouldered his load and led the way. A mile farther on we came upon the body of one of the Indians, battered, mangled, the flesh torn in shreds from the bones. Three others were found later, and as we passed the last, for we could not bury the bodies in the bare rocky cañon, a sudden thought flashed through my mind. The Valley of Death! Was this it? Were the words of Katchilcan being borne out? I shivered a bit at the thought. His words came vividly back to me: “But for him who holds the Book of Kukulcan, the way will be made easy.” Surely, if ever a place could be called the Valley of Death, this terrible cañon was it, and assuredly to me and to the chief who had held the codex in his hands above the raging waters, the way had “been made easy” as compared with the fate of the four Indians. But would the “way be made easy” for the rest of our journey? Would we eventually find a way out? CHAPTER IV Through the Tunnel of the Serpents MY question was soon answered. The cañon narrowed and swung sharply to one side. Rounding the bend, we halted in dismay. Before us the walls met in a sheer cliff. At its base was a yawning black opening into which the river poured like a gigantic mill-race. The way was barred; we were in a cul-de-sac. We were trapped, only one slender chance of escape remained: to retrace our steps, follow up the stream and trust to finding some lower spot, some slope or side gulley, near the head of the cañon. The chief realized our predicament and our one chance as quickly as I did. Without a word, he wheeled and led the way up stream. Wearily, slowly--for walking over the water-worn ledges and rough, loose cobbles was torture--we stumbled up the cañon, our backs aching with our burdens. Mile after mile we traveled, not halting even for a midday meal, for our one thought, our one desire was to escape from that Valley of Death before darkness overtook us and we were forced to spend another night in the fearful place. The cañon seemed endless, though it was probably not over twenty miles in length, and it was mid-afternoon before we passed the cave that had been our shelter the night before.