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    A Princess of Mars
    A Princess of Mars
    A Princess of Mars
    Ebook247 pages4 hours

    A Princess of Mars

    By Edgar Rice Burroughs

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Transported to Mars, a Civil War veteran fights to rescue a princess in this classic science fiction adventure story from the creator of Tarzan

    Prospecting in the mountains of Arizona, John Carter is attacked by Apache warriors. Cornered in a cave, he thinks his life is finished, but when he emerges, the Apache are nowhere to be seen and the landscape is like nothing on Earth. John Carter has been transported to Mars—and the universe will never be the same.
     
    The shift in gravity gives Carter superhuman powers of strength, speed, and agility. On Earth, he was but a man. On Mars, he is a god. And he will need all the power he can muster, for the red planet—called Barsoom by its inhabitants—is in the grips of its own civil war. To save the legendary Princess Dejah Thoris, Carter must defeat legions of giant, four-armed green barbarians and travel thousands of miles across a landscape populated with monstrous flora and fauna.
     
    The first volume in Edgar Rice Burroughs’s beloved Barsoom series, A Princess for Mars is one of the wildest and most imaginative tales ever told.
     
    This ebook has been professionally proofread to ensure accuracy and readability on all devices.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateFeb 9, 2016
    ISBN9781504033886
    Author

    Edgar Rice Burroughs

    Edgar Rice Burroughs was an astonishingly prolific writer of American adventure and science fiction novels, best known for his creation of Tarzan and John Carter, but also for his various other book series, including the Pellucidar, Venus, Moon and Mucker series as well as the Caspak trilogy. Born in Chicago and raised in Oak Park, Illinois, Burroughs attended school in Massachusetts and then enrolled in the Michigan Military Academy. He enlisted in the Cavalry before being discharged with a heart condition. After that, he worked for years at various odd jobs: on a ranch, in a battery factory, for the railroad and even attempting to run a mine with his brothers. By 1911, Burroughs was 36 years old pencil sharpener salesman, father of two and with almost no prospects for the future. He began reading pulp fiction in his spare time and, unimpressed by the quality of the writing, became convinced that he could do as well or better. With no training whatsoever, he began writing what would become the first of the Barsoom series of books featuring the character of John Carter, an earth man who is transported to Mars. The story was almost immediately published, encouraging Burroughs to continue his newfound writing career. Soon after, Burroughs began work on Tarzan series and when those tales became enormously popular Burroughs literary output began to expand exponentially. Tarzan, which Burroughs exploited in every imaginable way, became a comic strip, a series of films and enjoyed huge profits from merchandising as well. Tarzan remains one of the most popular and profitable characters ever created. Burroughs also had a dark side and his beliefs in eugenics and scientific racism - which also appear in his books - have no doubt clouded his legacy. By the time he died, in 1950 of a heart attack at age 74, Burroughs had completed almost 80 novels and had become enormously wealthy from the Tarzan film series and his book sales. His ranch in California's San Fernando Valley - which he called "Tarzana" - is now the center of the suburb of the same name.

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    Reviews for A Princess of Mars

    3.5/5

    1,192 ratings89 reviews

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    • 4/5
      Ignoring the fact that we've disproved some of the myths of "Mars," actually quite a good read.
    • 3/5
      Who did I see describing this as "old school, pulpy goodness"? I think that works pretty well. I'm not sure how I'm going to relate this to Herland in my SF/F essay, but I'm thinking on it... Obviously there's a ton of colonial, North American stuff going on here, wherein a white man from Earth comes and suspiciously saves a red-skinned princess and reforms the Martian societies to good American values...But it's still sort of fun, and not a chore to read: the prose is straight-forward and not too crammed with infodumps, and I did get sort of fond of one or two characters, mostly Sola (perhaps because she was "civilised" and relateable before the Great White Man's intervention). No real surprises here, and I don't think I'll be in a hurry to read other Barsoom books, but it's enjoyable in its way.
    • 3/5
      Pulp fiction at its apex. A western in spaceship clothing.
    • 4/5
      A completely new World. John Carter finds himself on Mars, locally called Barsoom, and meets many dangers and adventures there.
      It reads like the Tarzan books. If you like them, you'll like this one too. It is no high literature, but a good read.
    • 4/5
      Though seemingly far fetched from today's viewpoint it is an excellent adventure story.
    • 5/5
      Written in 1912 this classic still carries much weight today. I am on a "classic" kick right now. Wells, Doyle, Howard and this was just what the doctor ordered. Classic stuff from this classic writter
    • 2/5
      Have read all of this series ( 11 books ) several times. Pure no brainers and a pleasure to read. Good guy versus bad guys and the good guy always wins, gets the girl and sometimes the bad guys are converted.
    • 4/5
      A very curious book. If I had read anything by Burroughs in the past, I don't recall. I would have remembered reading A Princess of Mars, though. For a book that was written nearly one hundred years ago (1911, I believe), Mr. Burroughs certainly had the physics worked out to a tee -- except for, perhaps that out-of-body, interplanetary-travel thing (a violation so bad that they should have revoked his literary license). I mean, REALLY! Cavorite has more plausibility. I was troubled by the consistency of impossible-problem-encountered, problem-overcome, although current-day movies tend to follow that same sort of monotony, but I enjoyed the sheer variety of issues and solutions that Burroughs packed into the book. I'll definitely be reading more.
    • 4/5
      An easy read, John Carter's perfection is only a mild annoyance. I see why it is pulp, and fantasy and science fiction. It was fun, and that's all. I love Sola the best.
    • 4/5
      The first in the John Carter series, this book is a very quick, entertaining read.Mr. Carter seems to be about thirty, but his true age is unknown. When he hides from his pursuers in the back of a dark cave, he’s suddenly and unexpectedly transported to Mars. This book covers his initial encounters with the strange Martian “humans” and his romance with his true love, the inimitable Dajah Thoris, the princess of the title.Author Burroughs never pretended to be anything but a writer of pulp action stories. Thank goodness he excelled at his chosen field. The John Carter books have had an enormous influence on sci-fi thrillers over the years, and reading them is both entertaining and informative about how the genre started.Not every book has to be deep, meaningful, and important. Sometimes a reader just wants to have fun, and this book provides plenty of that.
    • 5/5
      A Princess of Mars follows the adventures of John Carter, Gentleman of VIrginia, when he finds himself on the surface of Mars. He is held prisioner by green martians, but falls in love with another prisoner, an red woman named Dejah Thoris. He saves her many times, and his love for her grows. They are seperated later, and John worries he will never see her again, or worse, that she is dead.
    • 3/5
      While an imaginative sci-fi adventure, the book does not hold up well by today's standards, particularly due to its plodding pace. When the action finally kicks in, the author often briefly skims through the details, where epic sword fights are boiled down to a few sentences. Unfortunately, the story is also hindered by one-dimensional characters and straightforward dialog. Otherwise, credit should be given for the sheer innovative imagination of a Virginian soldier transported to Mars and given superhuman powers in the weak atmosphere of the planet, decades before "Avatar" mined similar territory. THe illustrations are also very nice and classic, but this book is best appreciated by minors.
    • 3/5
      Definitely pulp fiction, but more fun than I expected.

      I wonder what it would have been like reading this before we had sent spacecraft to Mars, and before we had nice pictures of Martian surfaces.

      I can't help but wonder if Burroughs meant the reader to believe Earthlings are descended from the red men of Mars--the planet is collapsing, the ancient humanoid residents of the huge now-dead cities created the atmosphere maker.
    • 3/5
      John Carter dies on earth and awakens on Mars.
    • 2/5
      This book is a science fiction adventure. It is filled with combat and a romance. The story line is interesting but the plausibility of the actions of the characters is poor. This book is appropriate for a young reader as it is without any significant meaning and is merely entertaining.
    • 4/5
      The beginning was a little hard to get through, since it read very much like an old Western. It got better, however, and I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed the book despite the shortcomings. The language was a little hard to get used to, simply because it sounded very pompous. Aside from that, I soon found myself quite engrossed in the book. It does tend to be chauvinistic, yet that can be expected from a white male writing at the turn of 20th century. I found Burroughs' vision of Mars quite refreshing, and either he borrowed something from earlier writers, or quite a few later writers borrowed their ideas of Mars from this very book. Some of the technology was quite amusing, since it showed a very close-minded look at the world; other technology was quite forward-thinking. What disappointed me the most was the ending. It felt very "Umm, I need to finish this book, so why don't I slap together a chapter or two that brings the story to an unbelievable climax, and then leave the reader hanging." It was akin to a children's fairy tale ending in "And they lived happily ever after for 10 years, at which point the evil step-mother returned and gave the princess a poisoned apple. The end." Aside from that, however, I think the book was pretty good.
    • 3/5
      I've always loved Burroughs, but his books are a bit dated now. He tends to be a bit racist and sexist with "savages" always running rampant and women who need saving. However, he's still one of the kings of pulp and this is surprisingly cinematic and fun. Looking forward to seeing _John Carter_ despite the reviews.
    • 3/5
      I hate giving it only three stars, because I absolutely loved this series when I was a kid. I'm now a much more sophisticated reader; maybe the difference is also that the style seems dated now -- lots of telling, not so much showing. It's still better than the unfortunate recent film.
    • 5/5
      I wasn't expecting to like this as much as I did. Fantastic; I read it through in a sitting and enjoyed it from one end to the other. It was like he had some brilliant insight into how to push my happy buttons. Not something I'd read to increase my enlightenment or insight into life, but a good "lay down your troubles and be refreshed" kind of book.
    • 5/5
      It's a real pleasure to revisit the "Barsoom" series after nearly 50 years. They're even better than I remember!
    • 3/5
      Don't bother. Action was dull. Characters bland and without any appeal. Setting is out of date. Burroughs ethnocentric racist beliefs shine through. You can put that down as par for his time period, but it doesn't help when the story doesn't even grab you. There are better "classics" in the sci-fi and fantasy crowd (Robert E. Howard, Lovecraft, and more).
    • 3/5
      Dated but engaging, fast-paced pulp.
    • 4/5
      A Princess of Mars is a Science Fiction classic for good reason. The exploration of new worlds and alien cultures, fierce battles in which our hero thrives, a lovely and courageous heroine, and wonderfully expressive writing combine to make this one of the best. That it is the first in a long series is even more amazing! I was late in coming to this author, but the timelessness of his tales make it a fantastic discovery. Looking forward to more!
    • 1/5
      Perfect example of why being the first gets you undeserved accolades. Burroughs was one of the first science fiction writers. He was far from one of the best and the Barsoom series proves why.
    • 5/5
      This is my absolute favorite book! I love everything about Burroughs writing, how wonderfully cheesy it is, the over dramatic adventure. It is absolutely perfect!
    • 1/5
      I gave it the old college try, I really did. It was just so godawful..
    • 4/5
      After fleeing from Apache Indians while prospecting near their territory following the Civil War, John Carter finds himself transported to the planet Mars where he quickly impresses the violent Green Men with his earthly muscles and mad fighting skillz. His captivity overlaps with that of Dejah Thoris, princess of the Red Men - her beauty... and poise in the face of imminent torture decide his immediate devotion. Many escapes from peril occur. Makes me want to read Tarzan. Probably not more of this series though. Love that all the creatures are violent (with varying degrees) since Mars is the god of war - that's just what happens there.
    • 4/5
      The science in this hundred year old science fiction novel by the author more famous as the creator of Tarzan is obviously ludicrous. However, his imagination in describing alien cultures and ways of thinking draws the reader in and makes this for the most part an engaging read, though the literal "with one bound (in low Martian gravity) he was free" and many fight scenes become a bit repetitive. The final scene where John Carter returns to Earth is strange and haunting. I am sure I read at least some of the many sequels.
    • 4/5
      It was a lot of fun. It was very interesting to read a book where the hero is NOT flawed in some sort of way. Carter was this crazy super man who was devoted, loved and loved by the 'perfect woman,' strong, brave; everything one could cram into a character. It was completely unbelievable and way over the top, but was fun because this is what every modern hero is a reaction to whether they know it or not. But it is was very fun and ran exactly like the cover of the book looked.
    • 3/5
      The book starts out with high action and then gets veeeery slow for a while, before it picks up to high action again. I felt like there were a lot of Superman parallels here (stranger from another planet that saves the day much?). It was a fun read and I'm glad I gave it a shot.

    Book preview

    A Princess of Mars - Edgar Rice Burroughs

    CHAPTER I

    ON THE ARIZONA HILLS

    I AM A VERY OLD man; how old I do not know. Possibly I am a hundred, possibly more; but I cannot tell because I have never aged as other men, nor do I remember any childhood. So far as I can recollect I have always been a man, a man of about thirty. I appear today as I did forty years and more ago, and yet I feel that I cannot go on living forever; that some day I shall die the real death from which there is no resurrection. I do not know why I should fear death, I who have died twice and am still alive; but yet I have the same horror of it as you who have never died, and it is because of this terror of death, I believe, that I am so convinced of my mortality.

    And because of this conviction I have determined to write down the story of the interesting periods of my life and of my death. I cannot explain the phenomena; I can only set down here in the words of an ordinary soldier of fortune a chronicle of the strange events that befell me during the ten years that my dead body lay undiscovered in an Arizona cave.

    I have never told this story, nor shall mortal man see this manuscript until after I have passed over for eternity. I know that the average human mind will not believe what it cannot grasp, and so I do not purpose being pilloried by the public, the pulpit, and the press, and held up as a colossal liar when I am but telling the simple truths which some day science will substantiate. Possibly the suggestions which I gained upon Mars, and the knowledge which I can set down in this chronicle, will aid in an earlier understanding of the mysteries of our sister planet; mysteries to you, but no longer mysteries to me.

    My name is John Carter; I am better known as Captain Jack Carter of Virginia. At the close of the Civil War I found myself possessed of several hundred thousand dollars (Confederate) and a captain’s commission in the cavalry arm of an army which no longer existed; the servant of a state which had vanished with the hopes of the South. Masterless, penniless, and with my only means of livelihood, fighting, gone, I determined to work my way to the southwest and attempt to retrieve my fallen fortunes in a search for gold.

    I spent nearly a year prospecting in company with another Confederate officer, Captain James K. Powell of Richmond. We were extremely fortunate, for late in the winter of 1865, after many hardships and privations, we located the most remarkable gold-bearing quartz vein that our wildest dreams had ever pictured. Powell, who was a mining engineer by education, stated that we had uncovered over a million dollars worth of ore in a trifle over three months.

    As our equipment was crude in the extreme we decided that one of us must return to civilization, purchase the necessary machinery and return with a sufficient force of men properly to work the mine.

    As Powell was familiar with the country, as well as with the mechanical requirements of mining we determined that it would be best for him to make the trip. It was agreed that I was to hold down our claim against the remote possibility of its being jumped by some wandering prospector.

    On March 3, 1866, Powell and I packed his provisions on two of our burros, and bidding me good-bye he mounted his horse, and started down the mountainside toward the valley, across which led the first stage of his journey.

    The morning of Powell’s departure was, like nearly all Arizona mornings, clear and beautiful; I could see him and his little pack animals picking their way down the mountainside toward the valley, and all during the morning I would catch occasional glimpses of them as they topped a hog back or came out upon a level plateau. My last sight of Powell was about three in the afternoon as he entered the shadows of the range on the opposite side of the valley.

    Some half hour later I happened to glance casually across the valley and was much surprised to note three little dots in about the same place I had last seen my friend and his two pack animals. I am not given to needless worrying, but the more I tried to convince myself that all was well with Powell, and that the dots I had seen on his trail were antelope or wild horses, the less I was able to assure myself.

    Since we had entered the territory we had not seen a hostile Indian, and we had, therefore, become careless in the extreme, and were wont to ridicule the stories we had heard of the great numbers of these vicious marauders that were supposed to haunt the trails, taking their toll in lives and torture of every white party which fell into their merciless clutches.

    Powell, I knew, was well armed and, further, an experienced Indian fighter; but I too had lived and fought for years among the Sioux in the North, and I knew that his chances were small against a party of cunning trailing Apaches. Finally I could endure the suspense no longer, and, arming myself with my two Colt revolvers and a carbine, I strapped two belts of cartridges about me and catching my saddle horse, started down the trail taken by Powell in the morning.

    As soon as I reached comparatively level ground I urged my mount into a canter and continued this, where the going permitted, until, close upon dusk, I discovered the point where other tracks joined those of Powell. They were the tracks of unshod ponies, three of them, and the ponies had been galloping.

    I followed rapidly until, darkness shutting down, I was forced to await the rising of the moon, and given an opportunity to speculate on the question of the wisdom of my chase. Possibly I had conjured up impossible dangers, like some nervous old housewife, and when I should catch up with Powell would get a good laugh for my pains. However, I am not prone to sensitiveness, and the following of a sense of duty, wherever it may lead, has always been a kind of fetich with me throughout my life; which may account for the honors bestowed upon me by three republics and the decorations and friendships of an old and powerful emperor and several lesser kings, in whose service my sword has been red many a time.

    About nine o’clock the moon was sufficiently bright for me to proceed on my way and I had no difficulty in following the trail at a fast walk, and in some places at a brisk trot until, about midnight, I reached the water hole where Powell had expected to camp. I came upon the spot unexpectedly, finding it entirely deserted, with no signs of having been recently occupied as a camp.

    I was interested to note that the tracks of the pursuing horsemen, for such I was now convinced they must be, continued after Powell with only a brief stop at the hole for water; and always at the same rate of speed as his.

    I was positive now that the trailers were Apaches and that they wished to capture Powell alive for the fiendish pleasure of the torture, so I urged my horse onward at a most dangerous pace, hoping against hope that I would catch up with the red rascals before they attacked him.

    Further speculation was suddenly cut short by the faint report of two shots far ahead of me. I knew that Powell would need me now if ever, and I instantly urged my horse to his topmost speed up the narrow and difficult mountain trail.

    I had forged ahead for perhaps a mile or more without hearing further sounds, when the trail suddenly debouched onto a small, open plateau near the summit of the pass. I had passed through a narrow, overhanging gorge just before entering suddenly upon this table land, and the sight which met my eyes filled me with consternation and dismay.

    The little stretch of level land was white with Indian tepees, and there were probably half a thousand red warriors clustered around some object near the center of the camp. Their attention was so wholly riveted to this point of interest that they did not notice me, and I easily could have turned back into the dark recesses of the gorge and made my escape with perfect safety. The fact, however, that this thought did not occur to me until the following day removes any possible right to a claim to heroism to which the narration of this episode might possibly otherwise entitle me.

    I do not believe that I am made of the stuff which constitutes heroes, because, in all of the hundreds of instances that my voluntary acts have placed me face to face with death, I cannot recall a single one where any alternative step to that I took occurred to me until many hours later. My mind is evidently so constituted that I am subconsciously forced into the path of duty without recourse to tiresome mental processes. However that may be, I have never regretted that cowardice is not optional with me.

    In this instance I was, of course, positive that Powell was the center of attraction, but whether I thought or acted first I do not know, but within an instant from the moment the scene broke upon my view I had whipped out my revolvers and was charging down upon the entire army of warriors, shooting rapidly, and whooping at the top of my lungs. Singlehanded, I could not have pursued better tactics, for the red men, convinced by sudden surprise that not less than a regiment of regulars was upon them, turned and fled in every direction for their bows, arrows, and rifles.

    The view which their hurried routing disclosed filled me with apprehension and with rage. Under the clear rays of the Arizona moon lay Powell, his body fairly bristling with the hostile arrows of the braves. That he was already dead I could not but be convinced, and yet I would have saved his body from mutilation at the hands of the Apaches as quickly as I would have saved the man himself from death.

    Riding close to him I reached down from the saddle, and grasping his cartridge belt drew him up across the withers of my mount. A backward glance convinced me that to return by the way I had come would be more hazardous than to continue across the plateau, so, putting spurs to my poor beast, I made a dash for the opening to the pass which I could distinguish on the far side of the table land.

    The Indians had by this time discovered that I was alone and I was pursued with imprecations, arrows, and rifle balls. The fact that it is difficult to aim anything but imprecations accurately by moonlight, that they were upset by the sudden and unexpected manner of my advent, and that I was a rather rapidly moving target saved me from the various deadly projectiles of the enemy and permitted me to reach the shadows of the surrounding peaks before an orderly pursuit could be organized.

    My horse was traveling practically unguided as I knew that I had probably less knowledge of the exact location of the trail to the pass than he, and thus it happened that he entered a defile which led to the summit of the range and not to the pass which I had hoped would carry me to the valley and to safety. It is probable, however, that to this fact I owe my life and the remarkable experiences and adventures which befell me during the following ten years.

    My first knowledge that I was on the wrong trail came when I heard the yells of the pursuing savages suddenly grow fainter and fainter far off to my left.

    I knew then that they had passed to the left of the jagged rock formation at the edge of the plateau, to the right of which my horse had borne me and the body of Powell.

    I drew rein on a little level promontory overlooking the trail below and to my left, and saw the party of pursuing savages disappearing around the point of a neighboring peak.

    I knew the Indians would soon discover that they were on the wrong trail and that the search for me would be renewed in the right direction as soon as they located my tracks.

    I had gone but a short distance further when what seemed to be an excellent trail opened up around the face of a high cliff. The trail was level and quite broad and led upward and in the general direction I wished to go. The cliff arose for several hundred feet on my right, and on my left was an equal and nearly perpendicular drop to the bottom of a rocky ravine.

    I had followed this trail for perhaps a hundred yards when a sharp turn to the right brought me to the mouth of a large cave. The opening was about four feet in height and three to four feet wide, and at this opening the trail ended.

    It was now morning, and, with the customary lack of dawn which is a startling characteristic of Arizona, it had become daylight almost without warning.

    Dismounting, I laid Powell upon the ground, but the most painstaking examination failed to reveal the faintest spark of life. I forced water from my canteen between his dead lips, bathed his face and rubbed his hands, working over him continuously for the better part of an hour in the face of the fact that I knew him to be dead.

    I was very fond of Powell; he was thoroughly a man in every respect; a polished southern gentleman; a staunch and true friend; and it was with a feeling of the deepest grief that I finally gave up my crude endeavors at resuscitation.

    Leaving Powell’s body where it lay on the ledge I crept into the cave to reconnoiter. I found a large chamber, possibly a hundred feet in diameter and thirty or forty feet in height; a smooth and well-worn floor, and many other evidences that the cave had, at some remote period, been inhabited. The back of the cave was so lost in dense shadow that I could not distinguish whether there were openings into other apartments or not.

    As I was continuing my examination I commenced to feel a pleasant drowsiness creeping over me which I attributed to the fatigue of my long and strenuous ride, and the reaction from the excitement of the fight and the pursuit. I felt comparatively safe in my present location as I knew that one man could defend the trail to the cave against an army.

    I soon became so drowsy that I could scarcely resist the strong desire to throw myself on the floor of the cave for a few moments’ rest, but I knew that this would never do, as it would mean certain death at the hands of my red friends, who might be upon me at any moment. With an effort I started toward the opening of the cave only to reel drunkenly against a side wall, and from there slip prone upon the floor.

    CHAPTER II

    THE ESCAPE OF THE DEAD

    A SENSE OF DELICIOUS dreaminess overcame me, my muscles relaxed, and I was on the point of giving way to my desire to sleep when the sound of approaching horses reached my ears. I attempted to spring to my feet but was horrified to discover that my muscles refused to respond to my will. I was now thoroughly awake, but as unable to move a muscle as though turned to stone. It was then, for the first time, that I noticed a slight vapor filling the cave. It was extremely tenuous and only noticeable against the opening which led to daylight. There also came to my nostrils a faintly pungent odor, and I could only assume that I had been overcome by some poisonous gas, but why I should retain my mental faculties and yet be unable to move I could not fathom.

    I lay facing the opening of the cave and where I could see the short stretch of trail which lay between the cave and the turn of the cliff around which the trail led. The noise of the approaching horses had ceased, and I judged the Indians were creeping stealthily upon me along the little ledge which led to my living tomb. I remember that I hoped they would make short work of me as I did not particularly relish the thought of the innumerable things they might do to me if the spirit prompted them.

    I had not long to wait before a stealthy sound apprised me of their nearness, and then a war-bonneted, paint-streaked face was thrust cautiously around the shoulder of the cliff, and savage eyes looked into mine. That he could see me in the dim light of the cave I was sure for the early morning sun was falling full upon me through the opening.

    The fellow, instead of approaching, merely stood and stared; his eyes bulging and his jaw dropped. And then another savage face appeared, and a third and fourth and fifth, craning their necks over the shoulders of their fellows whom they could not pass upon the narrow ledge. Each face was the picture of awe and fear, but for what reason I did not know, nor did I learn until ten years later. That there were still other braves behind those who regarded me was apparent from the fact that the leaders passed back whispered word to those behind them.

    Suddenly a low but distinct moaning sound issued from the recesses of the cave behind me, and, as it reached the ears of the Indians, they turned and fled in terror, panic-stricken. So frantic were their efforts to escape from the unseen thing behind me that one of the braves was hurled headlong from the cliff to the rocks below. Their wild cries echoed in the canyon for a short time, and then all was still once more.

    The sound which had frightened them was not repeated, but it had been sufficient as it was to start me speculating on the possible horror which lurked in the shadows at my back. Fear is a relative term and so I can only measure my feelings at that time by what I had experienced in previous positions of danger and by those that I have passed through since; but I can say without shame that if the sensations I endured during the next few minutes were fear, then may God help the coward, for cowardice is of a surety its own punishment.

    To be held paralyzed, with one’s back toward some horrible and unknown danger from the very sound of which the ferocious Apache warriors turn in wild stampede, as a flock of sheep would madly flee from a pack of wolves, seems to me the last word in fearsome predicaments for a man who had ever been used to fighting for his life with all the energy of a powerful physique.

    Several times I thought I heard faint sounds behind me as of somebody moving cautiously, but eventually even these ceased, and I was left to the contemplation of my position without interruption. I could but vaguely conjecture the cause of my paralysis, and my only hope lay in that it might pass off as suddenly as it had fallen upon me.

    Late in the afternoon my horse, which had been standing with dragging rein before the cave, started slowly down the trail, evidently in search of food and water, and I was left alone with

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