'No man saw his end. The body was found on the hills, unwounded, and word passed in the city that the stranger had died from a bursting of the heart, in climbing.' Poyning rapped out these enquiries in a way that got me distinctly alarmed. It seemed inevitable the old man must resent being thus brusquely cross-examined--there is no other word to it--and I noticed that he was indeed scanning Poyning's face with that curious intentness he had shown when the subject of former explorers first came up. I did my utmost to catch Poyning's eye and warn him to go lightly, but his head had fallen to his breast. 'You are much concerned for the stranger who died,' said Kalliboas at last. Poyning looked up and gave the old man a look as straight as his own. 'He may have been of our race,' he said. 'We would at least go to his tomb to pay honour to the dead.' 'So,' said Kalliboas. 'But it may not be yet. The foothills to the southward are still impassable by reason of much snow which has recently fallen. But come, it is the will of the Prince that I should show you our city. You have asked to know more of the great birds you have seen in the valley, and to learn how our people first came here.' We followed him into the open and struck out westward on foot, skirting the margin of the lake and making towards a broad grassy plain from which we could see the gigantic birds rising into the air. News of us was, of course, by this time general in the city, and I noticed that as soon as we emerged from the guest-house we were watched at courteous distance by a considerable crowd, who only desisted when Kalliboas ordered certain city wardens--the closest approach to police I ever saw in the valley--that we were to be pursued no farther. We must have walked a mile at a round pace--the old man was astonishingly vigorous for one of his age--and at last drew near enough to discern the true nature of these gigantic wing-flapping figures. 'Then they _are_ men!' cried Poyning. 'Not so,' replied Kalliboas. 'They are boys. This is the school where our people are taught the art of flight.' We were so close now that we could see several pairs of great wings lying on the ground beside a knot of youths in white skin-tight attire. They were gathered round an older man, whose voice we heard raised in the level tones of a set lecture. Our arrival caused no little commotion: the boys drew away from their tutor and ranged themselves in a half-circle, staring towards us with the liveliest curiosity. I make no doubt we were more interesting to them even than the art of flight was to us.