From the top of the mountain there came again the mournful death-song of old Woonga, and Jean shivered.

Howland stared into the blotch of gloom, and still staring he followed Croisset--entered--and disappeared in it.

About them was the stillness and the damp smell of desertion.

There was no visible sign of life, no breathing, no movement but their own, and yet Howland could feel the half-breed's hand clutch him nervously by the arm as they went step by step into the black and silent mystery of the place.

Soon there came a fumbling of Croisset's hand at a latch and they passed through a second door.