of iron. As a boy I saw the things they could do,"
he answered.--"Not as men do I fear them, but it is their strong god
who tames their beasts."

"Your arrows are good," said Yahn Tsyn-deh with conviction,--"when you
see him dead as other men die, you will know that our own gods are
also strong."

The dark had fallen heavily, and only the Ancient Star gleamed
threatening as it waited for the moon. The smaller stars were not seen
and the shadows were very dense.

Because of this a strange thing came to them as they reached the
summit. Strong as was the heart of Yahn the Apache, she was struck by
terror, and Ka-yemo knew that the great god of the men of iron had
sent a threat for his eyes to see.

For, still and erect against a dark wall of the Lost Others, stood a
man outlined in fire. In Castilian war dress he stood, and little
flickering lines of fire ran along helmet and breastplate and lance.
No face could they see of the horror, which added to, rather than
lessened the terror of Ka-yemo. A living face he could meet and
fight--but this burning ghost of a man not yet dead--!

He turned and stumbled downward blindly, and Yahn Tsyn-deh clung to
him and gripped his hand cruelly for silence, and when they sank at
last beside a great boulder, her arms were around him, as though that
clasp kept the solid world from crumbling beneath her feet.

"No--no--no!" muttered Ka-yemo as though she had actually uttered
words of persuasion,--"it is what their padre said long ago. Their
strong god has an army of saints, and of angels,--they stand
guard;--all who go against them are swept into the flames of their
Underworld! It is what the Padre Luis said--and now it has been seen
by my eyes! Their altars are the stronger altars,--we will go
there--we will both go;--the fire of their hell will not reach us at
their altar--the medicine prayers of their padre are strong
prayers--we will go to him--"

The old fear of his boyhood had enveloped him as the unchained
electric force had enveloped the heights. Yahn Tsyn-deh put up her
hand to her throat;--she felt herself strangle for breath as she
listened.

"It was some trick!" she insisted--though she also had trembled with
awe--"Listen to me!--they have many tricks--these white men! Because
of a trick will you go to their altars, and be shamed in your clan?
Their priest is the head of all things--will you follow the steps of
another when you can wear the feathers of a leader? Will