Around us was blackness, with a few distant mesas outlined through the slashing rain. The men got out, and examined the machinery, while Toby and I stayed within, enjoying the luxury of a breakdown which necessitated no exertion on our part. They returned covered with mud halfway to the knees. The guide volunteered to walk to Chin Le for help. It might be five or ten miles. We promised, rather unnecessarily, not to move till he returned. He took our one electric torch, and vanished into the blackest night I ever saw. A forlorn feeling settled over us. We had no light, little food and no guide, and no present means of transportation. If our guide fell into some new-born raging torrent, not one of us knew the way back. In five minutes we were all asleep. We were awakened hours later by a voice that meant business, shouting “Stop! Who’s there?” Murray’s round, red face loomed above the front seat like the rising moon. “Who’s there?” The Golfer took up the challenge. We in the back seat trembled. Whoever was there had us at his mercy. We were entirely unarmed. Nobody answered, and in a few minutes we regained enough courage to ask questions in bated whispers. “What did you see, Murray?” “The burglar,” said Murray, looking bewildered. Then it dawned on us he had been having a nightmare, and we all breathed again. “What time is it?” someone asked. “One o’clock.” We looked at each other. The guide had been gone four hours. “Had we better hunt for him?” asked Murray. “Where could we go?” asked the Golfer. That seemed to settle all question of action. We repacked ourselves and I made myself more comfortable by removing a suitcase from my left foot, and Toby’s specimens from the back of my neck, and soon we were asleep again. It seemed heartless, not knowing the guide’s fate, but I suppose we reasoned we could face tragedy better if we had our sleep out. So quiet followed. We awoke through the night only to complain of a paralyzed foot or arm, and demand our share of the car and covers. A strange informality prevailed, as must when five people, each aggressively bent on obtaining his proper amount of rest, occupy one touring car all night. At four, a hideous noise awoke us. Murray had fallen on the horn, and had brought forth sound. It took us a moment to realize this meant the return of our power. We were free to go ahead. But with north, south, east and west completely disguised as an inland sea, we thought it discreet to wait till sunrise. We no longer hoped for the guide’s return, and gloomily looked for a sad ending to our trip. [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE CANYON DE CHELLEY.]