Eight or ten human skeletons lay scattered upon the ground.
The light of the match died out, but we had seen enough to convince us that we were in a large grave, into which, perhaps, some unfortunate emigrants, who had been killed by the Indians, had been thrown; or, perhaps, seeking refuge there, they had been corraled and then killed on the spot.

If such was the case, they had met the fate of thousands of others, whose friends have never heard of them since they left their eastern homes to seek their fortunes in the Far West.

However, we did not care to investigate this mystery any further, but we hustled out of that chamber of death and informed Scott of our discovery.

Most of the plains-men are very superstitious, and we were no exception to the general rule.

We surely thought that this incident was an evil omen, and that we would be killed if we remained there any longer.
[Illustration: CAMPING IN A SEPULCHRE.] "Let us dig out of here quicker than we can say Jack Robinson," said Scott; and we began to "dig out" at once.