h leading over a yawning chasm. She beckoned
and he felt his way along. Then they came upon a tiny plateau upon
which had been built a hut of rocks.

The scene within was terrible. Upon the stone floor lay a brown-skinned
skeleton with bulging eyes and clawing fingers muttering incoherently.
Sorez could do nothing but administer a small injection of the soothing
drug, but this brought instant relief and with it a few moments of
sanity. The doctor had picked up a small vocabulary and gathered from
what the dying man muttered that he, Sorez, a very much bruised and
weary mortal, was being mistaken for one from heaven. A smile
lighted the haggard face of the invalid and the bony hands came
together in prayer. The girl bent over him and then drew back in
horror. She met the eyes of her father in some new-found wonder,
gasping for breath. Then she bent her ear once more. The message,
whatever it was, was repeated. Still, as though half doubting, she
moved to the rear of the hut and pounded with a large rock against what
was apparently the naked face of the cliff in which the hut was
built. It swung in, revealing a sort of shrine. Within this reposed
a golden image. She turned her eyes again upon her father and then
without hesitation took out the idol and handed it to Sorez.

"The God of Gods," she whispered, bending low her head.

"But I don't want your god," protested the doctor.

"You must. He says it is for you to guard."

He had taken it carelessly to humor the dying man. And when the latter
closed his eyes for all time, Sorez remembered that the heathen image
was still in his possession. He started to return it to the shrine,
but the girl threw herself before him.

"No. The trust is yours."

Well, it would be a pleasant memento of an incident that was anything
but pleasant. He brought it down the mountain side and put it beneath
his blanket.

It was not until several days later that bit by bit he came to a
realization of that which he had so lightly taken. The old man who
brought his food whispered the news through ashen lips.

"The Golden One is gone."

"Who is the Golden One?"

"The Golden God in the hut above who guards the secret of the sacred
treasure. It is said that some day this image will speak and tell
where the lost altar lies."

The whole tribe was in the grip of an awful terror over this
disappearance. But the Priest proved master of the situation.

"It will be found," he said.

In the e