legends and superstitions about it. Man found a six-hundred dollar nugget in it once. Must have been brought down in a wash-out. Prospecting never developed anything else. Bandits there in the old days. But it's away to hell and gone. Trail runs over desert, and it's your side of the range. Metzal attraction. Ah, here it is. Take it along and send it back some time."
Sheridan pocketed the copy of The World at Large gratefully, and handed the editor another cigar He chatted for a little while and left.
In the Cactus Restaurant, where he got his lunch, he eagerly read the somewhat flamboyant article and scanned the pictures. The flat, gray reproductions did scant justice to the originals but they showed him what he wanted in confirmation of Quong's story from Juan Mendoza, and they identified the White Chapel.
Some of the captions had been manufactured by the editor, titles and all, he fancied; such as The Pillars of Hercules, The Castle in Spain, The Acropolis, but others had their original Spanish names—El Templo Cerrada (The Closed Cathedral) and La Capilla Blanca (The White Chapel.) The faint image stamped on his mental retina from the trip revived and he studied the halftone closely. It did not take in the filled-up rift to the west, but it showed debris that had landslid and halted on the tower and roof of the water-carven edifice. In the latter appeared the dark mouth of an entrance. Sheridan put the magazine back in his pocket well satisfied.
