Half the width of the valley away the ruins began.
Weirdly were they its visible expression. They huddled
in two bent rows to the bottom. They crouched in a wide
cluster against the cliffs. From the cluster a curving row
of them ran along the southern crest of the hollow.

A flight of shattered, cyclopean steps lifted to a ledge
and here a crumbling fortress stood.

Irresistibly did the ruins seem a colossal hag, flung
prone, lying listlessly, helplessly, against the barrier's base.
The huddled lower ranks were the legs, the cluster the
body, the upper row an outflung arm and above the neck
of the stairway the ancient fortress, rounded and with two
huge ragged apertures in its northern front was an aged,
bleached and withered head staring, watching.

I looked at Drake--the spell of the bowl was heavy
upon him, his face drawn. The Chinaman and Tibetan
were murmuring, terror written large upon them.

"A hell of a joint!" Drake turned to me, a shadow of a
grin lightening the distress on his face. "But I'd rather
chance it than go back. What d'you say?"

I nodded, curiosity mastering my oppression. We stepped
over the rim, rifles on the alert. Close behind us crowded
the two servants and the ponies.