About sixty feet beneath the surface of the ground, the hard ledge—which Roy now saw was not wholly the work of nature—disappeared beneath an overhanging arch of rock. No living thing was in sight, but Roy saw Weston draw his revolver and he did the same. Then, peering over his companion’s shoulder, he saw first, a half-lit gallery. The trail on the ledge seemed to disappear within the tunnel. Into this, every few yards, fell rays of light entering through openings in the front of the overhanging rock.
“Seems to be nobody to home,” suggested Weston.
He pushed forward. As he and Roy got well within the gallery, they paused to accustom themselves to the half light. Still no sound.
“Might as well have it over,” went on Weston. “E yawp!” he shouted suddenly, springing close to the wall and raising his revolver to his hip.
“I wonder if they’re all dead?” asked Roy. He had already wondered that many times to himself.
“I’ve kind o’ calkerlated that way. Anyhow, they shore air so old an’ dried up ’at they ain’t no more worth shootin’ an’ a rattler,” Weston answered.
As if reassured by this, Weston moved forward again. Two irregular tunnel-like openings he passed, and then pointed to the next opening.
“Thar she be, Kid. Now I’m a liar er I ain’t. Thar’s the selfsame room er temple o’ them dishes. Hyar’s whar we win er lose.”
One of the light openings was nearly opposite this chamber, and the light from it fell full on the entrance to Weston’s treasure temple. Unable to control his curiosity, Roy hastened to the old guide’s side. Together the two faced the chamber entrance. Before they had even a chance to look within, an object whirred through the air, grazed Roy’s left shoulder, and then struck the rock floor with a dull crack. It was an oval rock attached to a thong.
Both Weston and Roy rushed into the cave. A few yards from the door, on his hands and knees, was the shriveled figure of an aged man. As the intruders paused, the decrepit figure collapsed. Before either Weston or the boy could reach his side, the man was in a heap on the floor. Weston caught the prostrate Indian by the shoulders, but the figure slid from his grasp and fell upon its back. The man opened his eyes once and then seemed to pass into unconsciousness. In his left hand was a white, polished knife of ivory.