e
scores of fierce-looking Indian warriors beaten by the stones cast from
above.

Worst of all in the dream was the final slaughter along the last
platform, a sight so horribly real that Chris woke up suddenly, bathed
in perspiration, and suffering an agony of excitement before he could
force himself to believe it was all a dream.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

IN THE OLD STRONGHOLD.

The morning broke fresh and cool, and after a good meal a start was made
for the top stairway, Griggs being armed with two lanthorns, while Chris
carried ropes, and an iron bar fell to Ned's lot, the intention being to
drive the chisel-shaped end between two stones or into some crack, so
that the rope might be safely held for the adventurer's descent.

That which had seemed long and wearisome the day before looked easy now,
and they were not long in reaching the slope leading to the first
ascent, where the party paused to look back along the depression to
where the animals were browsing contentedly enough, and the remains of
the camp-fire sent up a tiny column of thin blue smoke. The ranges of
open cells were on their right, terrace above terrace, all looking so
grey and peaceful, with tree, shrub, and tuft of green flourishing in
the various cracks, that it was difficult to connect the place with the
horrors their search had unveiled.

"It looks from here," said Bourne, "like the home of so many human bees
who had built their peaceful city against the sides of the cliffs. Do
you think we shall find that similar horrors were perpetrated over
yonder?"

"If the opposite cells were occupied at the same time I'm afraid there
is no doubt about it. We'll find out the ascent to those terraces, if
we can, to-morrow or next day. I wish we could come upon one of the
chambers just as it was occupied by its owner."

"I dessay we could find a lot of things here on this side," said Griggs
quietly to the boys, who generally kept with him for companion, "but it
would be an unked job with shovel and sieve to clear out one of those
cells."

"A what job?" said Chris.

"Unked, my lad. That's what a Somersetshire chap I once knew used to
call anything dismal and melancholy. This is going to be an unked job
this morning, I can tell you, for if it wasn't for the feeling of
curiosity to know all about these people I should be ready to pitch it
over."

"Well, do," said Chris, "and leave it to Ned and me."

"'Tisn't a fit job for boys," said Gri