For two miles we rode sharply to the east in a lonely waste of sand into which the horses sank fetlock-deep at nearly every step. The barren, uneven country was cut into numerous ravines, lumpy stretches and shrubless little hillocks that showed dreary and foreboding in the moonlight. A hard wind had enveloped us, sending the tiny grains of sharp sand to cut our lips and faces, while the horses blinked and whinnied in helpless misery. Yet, with the persistence that the thought of riches will always inspire, we plodded patiently on behind the sprightly steed of our dauntless leader.
On reaching a cluster of palm-trees, Atma turned northward. The country became wilder as we advanced. Distant mountains showed on the far horizon, and from out of the blackness would come the cries of prowling desert creatures.
Silently we continued over the desolate wastes, once to pause at a tiny oasis, and several times to seek brief respite from the blowing sand in one of the numerous ravines. At length, after three hours of steady travel, we entered a deep valley from which many boulder-strewn gorges diverged. Here Atma halted her splendid beast and beckoned me closer.
"The second pass to the left!" she cried. "It is the one we seek. I have too often heard its description to be wrong. We will dismount here and tether our horses to these trees. Instruct Usanti to bring the long rope he carries—we shall need it in our climb. The boulder is a high one and the ascent to its summit hard and dangerous."
Stopping only to tie the weary horses, we presently entered a narrow gorge which led to the left from the valley. Here lay a narrow passage. On either side the black cliffs shot upward to the stars. Sneaking forms of prowling jackals slunk through the darkness. Stunted trees stood as lonely sentinels, while numerous large boulders, white and gleaming, were strewn on the bed of what in prehistoric times had been a mighty river.
Standing somewhat apart from the other rocks was a huge granite boulder. Toward this we were now led. There, in the shadow of its frowning height, Atma turned to face us. We had reached our destination.
The dark-eyed Princess looked long at her travel-stained followers.
"We are about," she began, addressing the three wondering blacks, "to descend deep into the earth, far down near the pits of hell, through ancient corridors built by men whose bones have long since turned to dust."
Standing in the moon rays that flooded the rocky pass, a slender riding-whip slapping her open palm, with an amused smile the Egyptian watched the rolling eyes of the blacks.
"You will come, Usanti?"
The dwarf stared at her in silent misery.
"You mangy dog!" she snapped. "What is there to fear? What crazy superstition holds you back from the riches that lie within?"
"The spirits of the departed, oh mistress," whispered one. "They will be waiting to tear us asunder. They will choke us with their ghastly breath, and feed our bodies to the crawling things that lie in the gloom of the deep pits. Always have we heard of the terrible anger of the tomb gods."
"You miserable fool!" cried Atma. "The dead are dead; they can neither help nor harm you. Their powers have long vanished, nor are there any spirits or ghosts to avenge them. It is all lies—the stories you may have heard about the angry gods who will destroy the desecra-
