“It struck about where the Ting-Pa was broken and seemed drawn down like the rays,” I said. “Purposeful,” Drake said. “And devilish. It hit on all my nerves like a--like a metal claw. Purposeful and deliberate. There was intelligence behind that.” “Intelligence? Drake--what intelligence could break the rays of the setting sun and suck down the aurora?” “I don't know,” he answered. “Devils,” croaked Chiu-Ming. “The devils that defied Buddha--and have grown strong--” “Like a metal claw!” breathed Drake. Far to the west a sound came to us; first a whisper, then a wild rushing, a prolonged wailing, a crackling. A great light flashed through the mist, glowed about us and faded. Again the wailing, the vast rushing, the retreating whisper. Then silence and darkness dropped embraced upon the valley of the blue poppies. CHAPTER II. THE SIGIL ON THE ROCKS Dawn came. Drake had slept well. But I, who had not his youthful resiliency, lay for long, awake and uneasy. I had hardly sunk into troubled slumber before dawn awakened me. As we breakfasted, I approached directly that matter which my growing liking for him was turning into strong desire. “Drake,” I asked. “Where are you going?” “With you,” he laughed. “I'm foot loose and fancy free. And I think you ought to have somebody with you to help watch that cook. He might get away.” The idea seemed to appall him. “Fine!” I exclaimed heartily, and thrust out my hand to him. “I'm thinking of striking over the range soon to the Manasarowar Lakes. There's a curious flora I'd like to study.” “Anywhere you say suits me,” he answered. We clasped hands on our partnership and soon we were on our way to the valley's western gate; our united caravans stringing along behind us. Mile after mile we trudged through the blue poppies, discussing the enigmas of the twilight and of the night. In the light of day their breath of vague terror was dissipated. There was no place for mystery nor dread under this floor of brilliant sunshine. The smiling sapphire floor rolled ever on before us. Whispering little playful breezes flew down the slopes to gossip for a moment with the nodding flowers. Flocks of rose finches raced chattering overhead to quarrel with the tiny willow warblers, the chi-u-teb-tok, holding fief of the drooping, graceful bowers bending down to the little laughing stream that for the past hour had chuckled and gurgled like a friendly water baby beside us. I had proven, almost to my own satisfaction, that what we had beheld had been a creation of the extraordinary atmospheric attributes of these highlands, an atmosphere so unique as to make almost anything of the kind possible. But Drake was not convinced.