“We’re close upon the defile now,” answered the engineer; “but it’s a good mile through to the valley, and----” He broke off abruptly, as the weird howl of the wolf-men trembled out of the distance. “I guess this picnic’s off,” snapped the American. “Mervyn, we’ll postpone this visit to Wilson’s temple, if you don’t object. The niggers must ha’ struck our trail again, and I take it none of us are real anxious to be trapped in a blind gully?” The force of Haverly’s remark was plain to each of his friends. Even Mervyn, whose scientific zeal would have carried him onward, dared not drag his comrades into danger. Had he been alone he would have turned aside into the valley of the ruins at all costs, and doubtless would have lost his life in consequence. “We’ve got to find a road out of this,” Silas went on, “an’ real smart, too. Them brutes’ll be on our heels in half an hour. I should advise as we hustle some.” With that he broke into a trot, and his comrades followed his example. The cliffs on either side closed in steadily as they advanced, and it soon became evident that they were approaching a pass, or that the valley would end in a blank wall. What the latter meant they knew only too well. Their supply of cartridges would not last for long. Surrounded by a shrieking mob of savages, it would not be long ere sheer numbers would carry the day. The air grew strangely oppressive as they raced on, and a strong smell of sulphur came to their nostrils. What these signs portended they did not stop to consider. “Faster!” was all the cry, and, spurred onward by the yelping cries of their pursuers--each moment getting nearer--they put forth every effort. Suddenly a gasping cry broke from Seymour. “A pass!” Just ahead of them was the mouth of a gorge, and into this they plunged. Impenetrable darkness surrounded them, hedged them about as with a wall, until, of a sudden, the triangular beam from Haverly’s lantern dispelled the gloom, and made progress practicable. Every nerve, every muscle was strained to the uttermost, yet the savage cries of their murderous pursuers drew nearer moment by moment. It was a hopeless race; indeed, it could not be otherwise, pitted as they were against such runners as the wolf-men; but if it came to the worst, they could stand at bay until their ammunition gave out, and afterwards--death by their own hands, rather than fall into the power of the devilish priest. Their throats were choked with sulphur, their tongues dry and cracked, and the heat became intense as they advanced. Yet they still held on, until, dashing furiously round an angle in the wall of the gorge, they stopped dead, petrified by the terrific grandeur of the scene before them.