And those blanched remains back there—they had once been living men, like himself, in search of the legendary life secret. But unlike him, they had not been clever enough to elude the pitfalls of the jungle, and had died agonizing deaths, miles short of the goal. Farr was glad it was so, else the secret would not now be there for him to pluck from its pedestal and mold to his own use.
Many hours later, Farr emerged from the jungle to stand at last at the entrance to a desolate canyon. Aching in every muscle, battered, bruised and hardly able to stay on his feet, he felt a surge of new energy as he spied his objective, near the center of the valley.
The temple was old, very old. Its walls were drab gray, as if with the grayness of age, and a great silence hung over it, unbroken by even the strident sounds of insect life. But in spite of its gloomy, tomb-like appearance, there was an air of magnificence about the temple, a faint aura of greatness once known, but long since gone. It was at once beautiful and foreboding, guardian of the heritage left by the Ancients to those with courage and intelligence enough to win it.
Farr was not impressed. Beauty meant nothing to him, save the beauty of power. But he noted the Mumums, still with him, were stirred by the scene. Throughout the trek through the jungle, they had shown no signs of emotion, but now they were milling about restlessly, staring at the temple and chattering excitedly among themselves.
Drawing a deep breath, he moved cautiously into the canyon, blaster ready at his side. There was no telling what hellish devices he had yet to face, and he did not intend to be robbed of the life secret now, having come this far along the road.
Sheer cliffs soared high above on three sides of him, and one look told him that no one could scale those dizzy heights. The Mumums, scampering ahead of him, silver tubes tinkling melodiously, reached the edifice's yawning portal and stood staring apprehensively into the impenetrable darkness. He followed quickly, eager to secure the elixir and leave this dismal canyon far behind.
Twenty feet from the looming entrance, something rattled loosely under his step and he bent to examine the object. A skull. His eyes traveled across the ground and spied the body of the skeleton lying between two boulders. He stepped over to the grisly relic and knelt beside it, regarding it thoughtfully.
Clutched in the bony fingers was a corroded blaster, and through the tatters of the dead man's rotted tunic protruded charred stumps of ribs, grim indication of the last use to which the gun had been put. Suicide! But why? Had the man been enmeshed in some trap from which there was no escape? No; if that were the case Farr himself would now be caught in its toils. At this realization he jumped back with a start, cursing his thoughtlessness in approaching the spot without first examining the surroundings.
But nothing happened and, thus reassured, he moved close again, puzzling over the inexplicable mystery confronting him. To all appearances the man had been free to leave the valley whenever he so willed. Yet he had snuffed out his own life—that last desperate measure one takes when he is faced by some barrier above which his resources cannot lift him.