t. Then, with an
effort, Garcia shook his adversary off, snatched up a torch stuck in the
sand, and was already half a dozen yards down the passage, with our
party in full retreat, when, with a yell of horror, the chief bounded
after him, overtook him, and the struggle began anew.

An instant more and Garcia's gun exploded, raising a roar of thundering
echoes that was absolutely terrific. Rolling volley after volley seemed
to follow one another with the rapidity of thought, the very cavern
appeared about to be crushed in, and, as we paused for an instant to
gaze back, we could see the chief and all his followers upon their
knees, their faces bent to the sand, and a dismal wailing chorus of
"Illapa! Illapa! Illapa!"--the Indians' name for the god of thunder--
could be fairly heard mingling with the rolling of the echoes.

The chief was in the same position, with a burning torch close to his
head, for which Garcia now returned, and stood for a moment hesitating,
as he gazed at the prostrate figures behind.

Would he dare to come on? or would he retreat? were now the questions we
asked ourselves.

The answer came in an instant, for Garcia was coming slowly on. He
paused for a few minutes when he reached the spot where we had watched
from, and, stooping behind the rocks, he reloaded his piece; then, with
his light above his head and his gun held ready, he pressed on, lighting
us, though we were invisible to him, as we kept about fifty yards in
advance.

Twice over Tom wanted to fire; but he was restrained, for we hoped that,
moment by moment, Garcia would hesitate and turn back. But no; there
was still the fierce satanic face, with its retiring forehead and
shortly-cut black hair, glistening in the torchlight, ever coming
forward out of the darkness, peering right and left, the torch now held
down to seek for footprints in the sand, now to search behind some mass
of crags.

On came the light nearer and nearer, illumining the gloomy passage, and
sending before it the dark shadows of the rocks in many a grotesque
form.

From where I stooped I could just catch sight of the sardonic face, with
its rolling eyes, which scanned every cranny and crag. Twenty yards--
ten yards--five yards--he was close at hand now, when from far-off came
the low whinny of a mule, followed directly by another.

In an instant Garcia stopped short to listen. Then the sardonic smile
upon his face grew more pronounced, and, casting off