right. They may kill, but
I'll furnish some red paint for my tombstone, anyway!"

It may be doubted whether Ixtli fully appreciated this conclusion, yet
he divined something of what was spoken, and made swift response:

"No kill yet. Dey look, we hide. Mebbe not find. Mebbe play fool all
over--yes!"

"Where can we hide that lights won't ferret us out, though? If a fellow
might only have the same advantage; here in this darkness I'm not worth
a sick kitten!"

Just a bit disgustedly came the words, but Bruno was not giving over
in weak despair. No matter how vast the odds might show against him, he
would put up a gallant fight as long as he could lift his hand or strike
a blow.

Still, he was by no means anxious for the crisis to arrive. He would far
rather run than fight, under existing circumstances; but whither, and
how?

Ixtli took it upon himself to solve the perplexing enigma, in a whisper
bidding his white brother follow with as little sound as might be, once
more hurrying away through the gloomy blackness, which was by no means
rendered more agreeable to Bruno by that fleeting glimpse of the dead
men's bones.

There was little room left for doubting the truth. Their presence in the
death-cells surely was more than suspected, judging from the actions
of yonder redskins, who flashed the light over and into each angle and
corner, each niche and jog, where a human being might possibly seek
concealment.

They were not so many in number, but still a larger force than could
well be met with success by two youths, even granting that Ixtli would
turn lethal weapons against his own people, which Bruno felt was by no
means a settled fact.

For some little time the young men kept without that limited circle of
light, watching each movement made by the searchers, and at the same
time taking care that none of the little party stole a dangerous march
upon them by hastening in advance of the lights.

Ixtli apparently enjoyed the affair, much as a child might a successful
game of I-spy, for he emitted occasional chuckles, and let fall soft
whispers which, if caught by other ears, certainly would not have deeply
benefited the fugitives when captured.

Thanks to that slow progress, rendered thus by the care and minuteness
of the search, Bruno began to marvel at the extent of the catacombs, and
almost involuntarily calculate how many centuries it must have taken to
accumulate such enormous quantities of remains. For, t