night. But the sun had crept behind the mountain's crest now, and the place below me was filled with a shadow that was vaguely disquieting. I shuddered, for what reason I know not, and made my bed on the high rock where I stood. It was too late to attempt descent into the Desert of the Dead. I fell asleep at once. My nerves were as tranquil as those of a babe in arms.
I awoke with a start and looked at my watch by moonlight. It was exactly midnight. Then I looked down into the Desert of the Dead. Only now it was not a desert! Where I had seen sand before there was now the luxuriant green of tropical verdure! Huge palm trees nestled at the base of the cliff at my feet. I started—and almost fell into the rock-bordered passageway which led from the outside world into the Desert of the Dead! There had been no explosion and no cave-in! I rubbed my eyes. I pinched myself to see if I were dreaming—and the pinching hurt!
Then I heard the sound of voices from the heart of the desert floor—voices which chattered excitedly in the patois of Santo Domingo. There were words of command, shouts of men on sentry-go, sharp shouts of the Officer of the Day upon his round of the sentries. The Desert of the Dead was the rendezvous of a huge detachment of Dominican soldiers! I could see the lights of their campfires as they twinkled through the foliage like giant fireflies.
The sudden displacing of a pebble behind me. I looked quickly around. A black man was creeping stealthily up the very path I had ascended to reach my sleeping place. He paused for a long moment after that pebble had fallen. He listened. Reading his mind I looked toward that encampment below me to see if anyone had heard. No one had. The black man continued his toilsome ascent. In much less time than I had required for the climb, he reached the summit and straightened himself slowly. I saw on the ragged shoulders of his blue denim blouse the gaudy epaulets of a revolutionary general. He carried a round black can in his arms. He handled it as carefully as if it had been a sleeping child.
He placed the can in a hole above the wall and attached a fuse to its top. Instantly I saw his intention. He meant to blast the passageway and lock the detachment inside a living tomb! I tried to move and could not raise a finger. I shouted a warning, and no sound came from my lips. I felt the marrow in my bones congeal slowly to ice.
The general turned and retraced his steps, as silently as he had come. I watched him go. I saw him come to pause in a spot where the woods and the trail by which I had come were lined with motionless figures. He raised his hand in a commanding gesture and a whole company of shadows formed in single file and began the entry to the Desert of the Dead. Their footfalls made not a sound. The figures stooped slightly, as if to avoid detection. Once more I tried to shout a warning and no words came.
I counted the men as they filed through. Three hundred silent shadows!
The general mounted once more to the rock upon which I sat. I watched him more closely and gasped—for he cast no shadow and I could see the opposing walls of the passageway directly through him! I might not have been there at all for all the attention he paid me. When every last shadow had gained the Desert of the Dead the general touched match to the fuse. In a shrill and frenzied shout he cried out one word in bastard Spanish.
"Charge!"
The order rang out across the amphitheater and echoed back and forth between the rocky walls. The sentries
