In the morning, at sunrise, the chief’s mother was at the cave.  Seeing Mr. Hume, she promptly begged a pipe of tobacco, and sitting down, expounded at great length the laws of the clan, together with those which had been passed during the past few days.

“The chief’s hut,” she said, “will be ready at the round of the moon, and the people look forward to much feasting.”

“They had better be preparing to meet Hassan and his wolves, lest they themselves be food for the pot.”

She snapped her fingers.  “Hassan will die within the gates, and his wolves will perish in the uttermost depths.”

“What depths are they?”

She laughed, and, with a glance at Compton, went off down towards the village, bearing on her head a square-shaped package.

“Your book, Compton!  Better follow her.  Evidently she wants to speak to you alone, Keep her engaged while Venning and I go back on her trail.”

Compton overtook her below the ledge, where, as if expecting his coming, she was waiting; and while they were engaged, the others went off on the trail.

“Hurrah!” said Venning, pointing to the ground as they turned into the gorge; “the first string is broken.  She came out this way.”

They went on, keen as hounds on the scent, and both pointed to the snapped ends of the second string.  Passing over the stone wall just built which here crossed the defile, they came to the third cotton—­ broken also.  The fourth was, however, intact, and so was the fifth.

“Thank goodness!” muttered Venning.

“Bad luck, you mean.”

“No, sir; good luck.  I was beginning to think that she had gone right on down to that dismal pool.”

They went back to the broken strand, and Mr. Hume brought the broken ends together.  “Just hold them in position.”  He climbed on the wall, and, with the gorge opening away between the enclosing cliffs, he took his line from the spot where Venning kept his fingers on the broken ends.

“Good,” he said, returning.  “The cotton was broken at a point two or three yards out of the straight track.  She must have gone towards the wall on our right.”

Venning’s eyes went to the cliff; but the Hunter examined the ground, and expressed his satisfaction at what he saw in a low chuckle.

“What do you see?” asked Venning, breathlessly, glancing quickly at Mr. Hume’s face, and back at the wall of rock.

“I should like Muata to be here.  It is a good point.”

“What, sir—­what?”

“A woman’s skirt on the dew, lad.  See, a man would pass through those two rocks there and leave no mark; but a woman, with the swing of her skirt, wipes a spread of dew off on either side.  You can see the dark smudge in the glister of the dewdrops.”

“I see,” said Venning, starting forward towards two rocks with a passage between.

“Steady, lad.  Follow me.”

He went forward to the rocks, which were almost under the right wall, and inch by inch examined the stony ground.