o the dark he drew
back. He was afraid of plunging into some well and he continued the
ascent. He was now about sixty or seventy feet up, but he was not yet
half way to the top of the pyramid.

He was so slow and cautious that it took more than a half hour to reach
the crest, where he found himself upon a platform about twenty feet
square. It was an irregular surface with much vegetation growing from
the crevices, and here Ned felt quite safe. Near him and sixty feet
above him rose the crest of the Pyramid of the Sun. Beyond were ranges
of mountains silvery in the moonlight. He walked to the edge of the
pyramid and looked down. Four or five fires were burning now, and the
single mandolin had grown to four. Several guitars were being plucked
vigorously also, and the sound of the instruments joined with that of
the singing voices was very musical and pleasant. These Mexicans seemed
to be full of good nature, and so they were, with fire, food and music
in plenty, but now that he had been their prisoner Ned never forgot how
that dormant and Spanish strain of cruelty in their natures could flame
high under the influence of passion. The dungeons of Spanish Mexico and
of the new Mexico hid many dark stories, and he believed that he had
read what lay behind the smiling mask of Santa Anna's face. He would
suffer everything to keep out of Mexican hands.

He crept away from the edge of the pyramid, and chose a place near its
center for his lofty camp. There was much vegetation growing out of the
ancient masonry, and he had a fear of scorpions and of more dangerous
reptiles, perhaps, but he thrashed up the grass and weeds well with his
machete. Then he sat down and ate his supper. Fortunately he had drunk
copiously at a brook before reaching the ruined city and he did not
suffer from thirst.

Then, relying upon the isolation of his perch for safety, he wrapped
himself in the invaluable serape and lay down. The night was cold as
usual, and a sharp wind blew down from northern peaks and ranges, but
Ned, protected by vegetation and the heavy serape, had an extraordinary
feeling of warmth and snugness as he lay on the old pyramid. Held so
long within close walls the wild freedom and the fresh air that came
across seas and continents were very grateful to him. Even the presence
of an enemy, so near, and yet, as it seemed, so little dangerous, added
a certain piquancy to his position. The pleasant tinkle of the mandolins
was wafted up