or was it
something within himself?--Garry could not have told. But, with the
startling clarity of a radio switched full on, he got the impress of
her thoughts, and his own brain took them and put them into words that
he knew.

"You will help me, you will save me," the words were saying. "You are
one of us, I know. You are a stranger, but your skin is white; you are
not of the tribe of Horab."

Garry was motionless and listening. He knew he was sensing her
thoughts--she was communicating with him by some telepathic magic--and
he knew, as he caught the words, that Horab was the black one there
before him, reaching and feeling within the casket where he had slept.
Horab--a savage king of a savage land--

"He captured me," the words continued in breathless haste. "I am from
Zahn: do you know the good land of Zahn? I am Luhra. Horab captured
me; carried me here to this island; it was yesterday he brought me
here. He put me to sleep, and he put his men to sleep, hundreds of his
chosen warriors. He worked his magic, and he said we would sleep for
one hundred summers. But it was yesterday. And now you will save me;
my father is a great man; he will reward you--"

The sentences flashed almost incoherently into his mind, but ceased at
a sound and stirring from the room at their backs.

Garry needed a moment for the substance of the message to register. He
had heard it as truly as if she had spoken: Horab had captured
her--yesterday!... And his own lips that had been loose with
astonishment closed to a grim smile.

"Yesterday!" She thought it was yesterday that her long night had
begun. Did Horab know the truth? Garry was suddenly certain that he
did. Horab's plans had miscarried; he could not know how far in a
distant past was that day when he had placed himself and this girl in
their caskets, safe in their mountain tomb.

* * * * *

Only an instant for these thoughts to form--then his eyes were steady
upon the tall savage who had found what he sought in the big metal
case. Horab, king of a vanished race, turned now with a heavy scepter
in his hand; and its jeweled head flashed brilliantly as he raised it
high in air and shouted an echoing command into the room. A white hand
was tugging at Garry's shoulder, a soft body clinging close, to turn
him where new danger threatened.

The other caskets! He had forgotten them, and he saw the nearer ones
alive with struggling forms. A black man-s