ing
trace of that door of the legend,--the door from which the aliso tree
of the mine could be seen,--and there was nowhere a trace of a door.

"Queer that every other part of the prospect developed according
to specifications and not the door," he grumbled whimsically.
"Cinderella, why have you hid the door in the wall from me?"

She looked around uncertainly, not understanding.

"No portal but it," she said with a movement of her head towards the
great slab forming a pointed arch against the mountain and shielding
the unbelievable richness there, "also El Alisal, the great tree, is
gone. This was the place of it; the old ones tell my father it was as
chief of the trees and stand high to be seen. The sky fire took it,
and took the padres that time they make an altar in this place."

"Um," assented Kit, noting traces of ancient charcoal where the aliso
tree had grown great in the moisture of the spring before lightning
had decided its tragic finish, "a great storm it must have been to
send sky fire enough to kill them all."

"Yes," said Tula quietly,--"also there was already another shrine at
this place, and the gods near."

He glanced at her quickly and away.

"Sure," he agreed, "sure, that's how it must have been. They destroyed
the aliso and there was no other landmark to steer by. White men might
find a thousand other dimples in the range but never this one, the
saw-tooth range below us has the best of them buffaloed. Come along,
Senorita Aladdin, and help me with the guardian of the treasure. We've
got to look after Miguel, and then start in where the padres left off.
And you might do a prayer stunt or two at the shrine you mentioned. We
need all the good medicine help you can evoke."

As they approached the pool where the faintest mist drifted above the
water warm from hidden fires of the mountain, Kit halted before he
quite reached the still form beside the yucca, and, handing the food
and drink to the girl, he went forward alone.

He was puzzled afterward as to why he had done that, for no fold of
the garment was disturbed, nothing visible to occasion doubt, yet he
bent over and lifted the cover very gently. The face of Miguel was
strangely gray and there was no longer sign of breath. The medicine of
the sacred pool had given him rest, but not life.

He replaced the blanket and turned to the girl;--the last of the
guardians of the shrine of the red gold.

"Little sister," he said, "Miguel grew tired