The rising sun dimmed the color of the scene, and, gradually, as the train crept north, the weird phenomenon was lost to view. The thing intrigued me; yet I felt unable to discuss what I had seen with anyone. However, when I met my traveling-companion at breakfast, he asked me if I had seen the forest fire on Mt. Shasta.

‘Did you see smoke?’ was my quick question.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘Just a red glow.’

Convinced that I had not been the victim of a mirage, I later asked the conductor about the mysterious pyrotechnics. His answer was short but enticing:

‘Lemurians,’ he said. ‘They hold ceremonials up there.’

‘Lemurians!’

The fact that a group of people conduct ceremonials on the side of a mountain is not of exceptional interest, but when these people are said to be Lemurians, that is startling, for the continent of Lemuria, like the lost Atlantis, disappeared beneath the ocean ages ago, and the Lemurians have long since been known as an extinct race.

Just as soon as I had transacted my business in Portland I returned to the Mt. Shasta region, incredulous but consumed with curiosity. If there were survivors of the lost race I would find them, for I planned to equip myself for an expedition into the wilderness surrounding Shasta.

I motored toward the point of my investigation, pausing at Weed, a town near Mt. Shasta, for the night. In Weed I discovered that the existence of a ‘Mystic Village’ on Mt. Shasta was an accepted fact. Business men, amateur explorers, officials and ranchers in the country surrounding Shasta spoke freely of the Lemurian community, and all attested to the weird rituals that are performed