The suggestion that they were still, in a sense, prisoners, and that some kind of service was expected of them before they could regain their freedom, was not pleasant. What was it that they could do for so singular a person as this, who gave the impression of having planned to meet them in this very spot? Narva took a witch's privilege to speak in riddles. No amount of questioning could get her to explain what she meant. The answer to everything was always "follow me"--and as she pointed to the valley whenever she said this, they gathered that the direction they were expected to take was practically that which they had been pursuing ever since they left the Condor Gate. As this would inevitably bring them among the villagers--who, they had just been told, were prepared to "kill them"--they could not understand Narva's plan at all. There being no choice left them, however, they yielded and went with her. The path leading into the valley was abrupt and dangerous. Narva, striding ahead, was unimpeded by obstacles that left the others breathless and panic-stricken. They wanted to turn back before they had gone very far--but this would have been quite as difficult to accomplish as to go on. At this point, apparently, the geological construction of the cave had undergone some radical changes. Convulsions, undoubtedly of volcanic origin, had rent the solid walls of granite in two, leaving irregular chasms, of uncertain depth, to be traversed before the smooth floor of the valley could be reached. These chasms, where their width demanded it, were spanned by swaying bridges of rope--or liana--and wood that proved a sore trial to the weaker members of the party, delaying their progress to an extent that seriously strained Narva's patience. The old Indian was especially put out by Mrs. Quayle, whom she contemptuously called "baby," and whose pathetic helplessness astride a plank over a yawning cavern aroused in her the nearest approach to laughter she had shown. Under Narva's guidance, however, the difficulties of this downward trail were overcome without mishap. The perilous abysses, once crossed, appeared not more than miniature dangers in retrospect; but immediately facing them, on this plain that, at a distance, had seemed so charming and pastoral in character, there was menace enough for the most daring. At first sight of the invaders, for so they were deemed, the villagers showed unmistakable hostility. Dropping their various occupations with one accord, they confronted the explorers in so threatening a manner that the latter had either to defend themselves as best they might, or retreat. But the thought of those villainous chasms, spanned by flimsy bridges of rope, was too appalling to offer the remotest hope of safety in flight. Anything would be better than a return--if return were even possible--over so hazardous a path.