But the height of it was more than any tangi I had ever seen, comparable only to a Doré picture. On either hand the walls of bare rock shot up straight, hundreds of feet above us, striated lime rock, splintered and cracked and twisted, but offering neither foothold nor hand-hold for any but the boldest and most experienced climber equipped with every aid. At the foot were little whitened rock plants, and clumps of coarse grass.
A couple of hundred yards farther on and we could see the valley turning, but when we reached the turn, lo! another again in front. And a silence that was eerie, naught save the murmur of the water, here perhaps three or four feet wide and a foot or more deep in places, running fairly fast.
We went back to the entrance, and, seeing the camels just approaching, signalled to Wrexham to stop.
“Here we are, and I think the thing is to halt now and make camp. Afterwards, we can explore the valley. If it’s your great-great-uncle’s one, it runs in about three miles according to the diary. It’ll probably take nearly an hour going up and as much coming back, and say an hour pottering round, and by that time there’ll not be much point in going on. So we might as well stop now, and look for a camp. There are some overhanging rocks there that would give a certain amount of shelter from the wind if it gets up. In this sort of place one often gets howling gales, and a bit of shelter is welcome. What do you think?”
“Yes; I never thought we should get beyond the foot of the hills to-day,” said Wrexham. “I’m with you in the matter of getting a camp-site before we start exploring. There doesn’t seem to be much grazing here for the camels, worse luck.”
“There’s a little scrub stuff inside at the foot of the cliffs, but I think we’d be wise not to let the animals touch it to-day. Remember your old uncle’s beasts. The stuff may be poisonous. It seems a new kind to me. Payindah will stop in the valley entrance and do sentry while the rest of us fix up camp.”
Another hour saw us settled in, the camels unloaded, and our little tent snuggled under the lee of a big rock. We made a hasty lunch, and then, leaving the men to set up things, we three started up the valley, rifles very much at the alert. As we entered the tangi mouth, Wrexham, who had been thoughtful during lunch, turned round to Forsyth and me just behind.
“Look here, you fellows, I’ve been thinking about what we ought to do when we get to the far end if we find the gate my great-great-uncle wrote about.
“It’s not exactly a suburban villa where you can walk straight up and ring the bell. The people who live here are presumably not accustomed to strangers, and they might be nasty. One is not at one’s best standing outside a fort gate trying to induce the people inside—who may not even know any language we speak—to let us in. My idea is that, if this is the valley, and if we come across that stone gate, we should hang about a bit under cover and see if anything materializes.”
“I was thinking of that, too,” put in Forsyth. “We’ve plenty of water now, and so there’s no immediate hurry, though the camels could do with some grazing. I’m all for trying to get to know the inhabitants somewhere out in the open. From the diary the place sounded what you might call average inhospitable, and I should prefer to try my Greek on some bloke out in the open rather than have to shout it at a narrow loophole with the tip of a three-foot arrow wavering about just inside.”