“The noises, Martin,” I said, for his description of these had been the description of those we had heard in the blue valley. “Have you heard them since?” “Yes,” he answered, hesitating oddly. “And you think those--those soldiers you saw are still hunting for you?” “Haven't a doubt of it,” he replied more cheerfully. “They didn't look like chaps who would give up a hunt easily--at least not a hunt for such novel, interesting, and therefore desirable and delectable game as we must have appeared to them.” “Martin,” I said decisively, “where's your pony? We'll try the hollow again, at once. There's Ruth--and we'd never be able to hold back such numbers as you've described.” “You feel strong enough to try it?” CHAPTER IV. METAL WITH A BRAIN The eagerness, the relief in his voice betrayed the tension, the anxiety which until now he had hidden so well; and hot shame burned me for my shrinking, my dread of again passing through that haunted vale. “I certainly DO.” I was once more master of myself. “Drake--don't you agree?” “Sure,” he replied. “Sure. I'll look after Ruth--er--I mean Miss Ventnor.” The glint of amusement in Ventnor's eyes at this faded abruptly; his face grew somber. “Wait,” he said. “I carried away some--some exhibits from the crevice of the noises, Goodwin.” “What kind of exhibits?” I asked, eagerly. “Put 'em where they'd be safe,” he continued. “I've an idea they're far more curious than our armored men--and of far more importance. At any rate, we must take them with us. “Go with Ruth, you and Drake, and look at them. And bring them back with the pony. Then we'll make a start. A few minutes more probably won't make much difference--but hurry.” He turned back to his watch. Ordering Chiu-Ming to stay with him I followed Ruth and Drake down the ruined stairway. At the bottom she came to me, laid little hands on my shoulders. “Walter,” she breathed, “I'm frightened. I'm so frightened I'm afraid to tell even Mart. He doesn't like them, either, these little things you're going to see. He likes them so little that he's afraid to let me know how little he does like them.” “But what are they? What's to fear about them?” asked Drake. “See what you think!” She led us slowly, almost reluctantly toward the rear of the fortress. “They lay in a little heap at the mouth of the cleft where we heard the noises. Martin picked them up and dropped them in a sack before we ran through the hollow. “They're grotesque and they're almost CUTE, and they make me feel as though they were the tiniest tippy-tip of the claw of some incredibly large cat just stealing around the corner, a terrible cat, a cat as big as a mountain,” she ended breathlessly. We climbed through the crumbling masonry into a central, open court. Here a clear spring bubbled up in a ruined and choked stone basin; close to the ancient well was their pony, contentedly browsing in the thick grass that grew around it. From one of its hampers Ruth took a large cloth bag.