fore struck a wax-match--with which excellent
article of Mexican manufacture we were supplied plentifully--and with
this to light his way, entered the narrow pass; and in his wake the rest
of us followed. Almost in a moment the walls on each side of us spread
out beyond the reach of the narrow circle of light, and we perceived
that we were come into a cave. But before we could at all discern our
surroundings the match was blown out by a sudden suck of wind setting in
from the entrance, and we were in thick darkness. The air around us was
so sweet and so fresh that we knew that the cave must be large, and with
more than one opening--as, indeed, the suck of wind inward through the
passage by which we entered clearly showed. While Rayburn struck another
match, wherewith to light the torch, we all stood still in our places;
and certain tremors went through our breasts because of the eeriness of
our surroundings.

[Illustration: THE CAVE OF THE DEAD]

When the great torch blazed up, and threw everywhere save towards the
high roof a flood of light, a real and rational fear took possession of
us. The cave was nearly circular, and at its back, directly facing the
entrance, was a roughly hewn mass of stone on which rested a huge stone
figure--identical with the figures in the Mexican National Museum to
which Le Plongeon, the discoverer of one of them, at Chichen-Itza, has
given the name of Chac-Mool. But what filled us with dread was not this
impassive stone image. Our alarm came from a much more natural cause,
as we beheld, squatted on their haunches in long semicircular rows,
facing the great stone idol, more than a hundred Indians. Truly,
considering that our rifles were outside the cave and that we had with
us only our revolvers, our momentary thrill of terror was highly
natural.

Yet it was only momentary. The Indians, undisturbed by our presence and
by the sudden blaze of light, remained unmoved in silent worship of
their god; and Rayburn, the first of us to recover equanimity, set all
our fears to flight as he exclaimed: "These are not the fighting kind.
Every man Jack of 'em is as dead as Julius Caesar. We've struck an Indian
bone-yard."

Here, then, was the reason why a part of the force that had attacked us
had drawn off when we made our stand at the mouth of the canon that led
to this home of the dead. Yet when, by the light of the torch, we
examined our silent fellow-tenants of the cave, it did not seem that
the