The ascent of the other side was difficult, but the men put forth their
best efforts, and ere they were aware found themselves before the
gateway in the rocks, where the woman still awaited them. She silently
beckoned them to enter.
Emerging from a narrow pass some six feet in length, they found
themselves in a circular basin, about two hundred feet in diameter,
surrounded by perpendicular walls of rock from one hundred to five
hundred feet in height. The bottom of the basin was level as a floor and
covered with a luxuriant growth of grass, while in the centre a small
lake, clear as crystal, reflecting the blue sky which seemed to rise
like a dome from the rocky walls, gleamed like a sapphire in the
sunlight. Sheer and dark the walls rose on all sides, but at one end of
the basin, where the rocks were more rough and jagged, a silver stream
fell in glistening cascades to the bottom, where it disappeared among
the rocks.
For a moment the men, lost in admiration of the scene, forgot that they
were in the den of a notorious band of outlaws, but a second glance
recalled them to the situation, for on all sides of the basin were
caves leading into the walls of rock, and evidently used as dwellings.
To one of these the woman now led the way. At the entrance a man lay on
the ground, his heavy stertorous breathing proclaiming him a victim of
some sleeping potion. The woman regarded him with a smile of amusement.
"I made him sleep, Señor," she said, addressing Mr. Britton, "so he will
not trouble you."
Still leading the way into the farther part of the cave, she came to a
low couch of skins at the foot of which she paused. Pointing to the
figure outlined upon it, she said, calmly,-"He sleeps also, Señor, but sound; so sound you will need have no fear
of waking him!"
Her words aroused a strange suspicion in Mr. Britton's mind. The light
was so dim he could not see the sleeper, but a lantern, burning low,
hung on the wall above his head. Seizing the lantern, he turned on the
light, holding it so it would strike the face of the sleeper. It was the
face of José Martinez, but the features were drawn and ghastly. He bent
lower, listening for his breath, but no sound came; he laid his hand
upon his heart, but it was still.
Raising himself quickly, he threw the rays of the lantern full upon the
woman standing before him, a small crucifix clasped in her hands. Under
his searching gaze her face grew pale and ghastly as that upon the
couch.
"You have killed him!" he said, slowly, with terrible emphasis.