“Come on!” cried Tom, impetuously.
“Wait a moment,” suggested the professor, “Sometimes the air in these places is foul. We
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must test it.” But a torch one of the Indians threw in burned with a steady glow. That test was conclusive at least. They made ready to enter.
Torches of a light bark, that glowed with a steady flame and little smoke, had been provided, as well as a good supply of electric dry-battery lamps, and the way into the cavern was thus well lighted. At first the Indians were afraid to enter, but a word or two from Goosal reassured them, and they followed Professor Bumper, Tom, and the others into the cavern.
For several hundred feet there was nothing remarkable about the cave. It was like any other cavern of the mountains, though wonderful for the number of crystal formations on the root and walls — formations that sparkled like a million diamonds in the flickering lights.
“Talk about a wonderland!” cried Tom. “This is fairyland!”
A moment later, as Goosal walked on beside the professor and Tom, the aged Indian came to a pause, and, pointing ahead, murmured:
“The city of the dead!”
They saw the niches cut in the rock walls. niches that held the countless bones of those who had died many, many years before. It was a vast Indian grave.
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“Doubtless a wealth of material of historic interest here,” said Professor Bumper, flashing his torch on the skeletons. “But it will keep. Where is the city you spoke of, Goosal?”
“Farther on, Se�or. Follow me.”