I. NATURE IN TRAVAIL. .
. . . . . . . . . . 11
II. PROFESSOR
FEATHERWIT TAKING NOTES . . . 23
III. RIDING THE TORNADO
. . . . . . . . . . 35
IV. THE PROFESSOR’S
LITTLE EXPERIMENT . . . 47
V. THE PROFESSOR’S
UNKNOWN LAND . . . . . . 58
VI. A BRACE OF
UNWELCOME VISITORS . . . . . 68
VII. THE PROFESSOR’S
GREAT ANTICIPATIONS. . 79
VIII. A DUEL TO THE
DEATH . . . . . . . . . 91
IX. GRAPPLING A QUEER
FISH. . . . . . . . 104
X. RESCUED AND RESCUERS.
. . . . . . . . . 114
XI. ANOTHER SURPRISE
FOR THE PROFESSOR . . 125
XII. THE STORY OF A
BROKEN LIFE. . . . . . 136
XIII. THE LOST CITY OF
THE AZTECS. . . . . 145
XIV. A MARVELLOUS
VISION . . . . . . . . . 154
XV. ASTOUNDING, YET
TRUE . . . . . . . . . 165
XVI. CAN IT BE TRUE? .
. . . . . . . . . . 174
XVII. AN ENIGMA FOR THE
BROTHERS . . . . . 183
XVIII. SOMETHING LIKE A
WHITE ELEPHANT . . 192
XIX. THE CHILDREN OF
THE SUN GOD . . . . . 203
XX. THE PROFESSOR AND
THE AZTEC. . . . . . 212
XXI. DISCUSSING WAYS
AND MEANS . . . . . . 221
XXII. A DARING
UNDERTAKING . . . . . . . . 230
XXIII. A FLIGHT
UNDERGROUND. . . . . . . . 241
XXIV. THE SUN CHILDREN’S
PERIL . . . . . . 250
XXV. WALDO GOES
FISHING. . . . . . . . . . 259
XXVI. DOWN AMONG THE
DEAD . . . . . . . . 268
XXVII. PENETRATING GRIM
SECRETS. . . . . . 277
XXVIII. BROUGHT BEFORE
THE GODS. . . . . . 286
XXIX. BENEATH THE
SACRIFICIAL STONE. . . . 294
XXX. AGAINST
OVERWHELMING ODDS . . . . . . 304
XXXI. DEFENDING THE SUN
CHILDREN . . . . . 312
XXXII. ADIEU TO THE
LOST CITY. . . . . . . 320
THE RESCUE . . . . . .
. . . . . . Frontispiece
IN THE HEART OF THE
TORNADO . . . . . . . . . . 43
THE DUKE . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
"‘I TOOK THESE ALL
FROM AN INDIAN’". . . . . . .133
FINDING THE LOST CITY.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .161
"‘MUCH
OBLIGED--ME, YOU, BROTHER’" . . . . . . .197
PRINCE HUA AND THE SUN
CHILDREN. . . . . . . . .237
"TLACOPA SHRANK
AWAY FROM THE SPEAKING STATUE" .301
"I SAY,
professor?"
"Very well, Waldo;
proceed."
"Wonder if this
isn’t a portion of the glorious climate, broken loose from its native
California, and drifting up this way on a lark?"
"If so, said lark
must be roasted to a turn," declared the third (and last) member of that
little party, drawing a curved forefinger across his forehead, then flirting
aside sundry drops of moisture. "I can’t recall such another muggy
afternoon, and if we were only back in what the scientists term the cyclone
belt--"
"We would be all
at sea," quickly interposed the professor, the fingers of one hand
vigorously stirring his gray pompadour, while the other was lifted in a
deprecatory manner. "At sea, literally as well as metaphorically, my dear
Bruno; for, correctly speaking, the ocean alone can give birth to the
cyclone."
"Why can’t you
remember anything, boy?" sternly cut in the roguish-eyed youngster, with
admonitory forefinger, coming to the front. "How many times have I told
you never to say blue when you mean green? Why don’t you say Kansas zephyr? Or
windy-auger? Or twister? Or whirly-gust on a corkscrew wiggle-waggle? Or--well,
almost any other old thing that you can’t think of at the right time? W-h-e-w!
Who mentioned sitting on a snowdrift, and sucking at an icicle? Hot? Well, now,
if this isn’t a genuine old cyclone breeder, then I wouldn’t ask a cent!"
Waldo Gillespie let his
feet slip from beneath him, sitting down with greater force than grace, back
supported against a gnarled juniper, loosening the clothes at his neck while
using his other hand to ply his crumpled hat as a fan.
Bruno laughed outright
at this characteristic anticlimax, while Professor Featherwit was obliged to
smile, even while compelled to correct.
"Tornado, please,
nephew; not cyclone."
"Well, uncle
Phaeton, have it your own way. Under either name, I fancy the thing-a-ma-jig
would kick up a high old bobbery with a man’s political economy should it
chance to go bu’st right there! And, besides, when I was a weenty little fellow
I was taught never to call a man a fool or a liar--"
"Waldo!"
sharply warned his brother, turning again.
"So long as I knew
myself to be in the wrong," coolly finished the youngster, face grave, but
eyes twinkling, as they turned towards his mistaken mentor. "What is it,
my dear Bruno?"
"There is one
thing neither cyclone nor tornado could ever deprive you of, Kid, and that
is--"
"My beauty, wit,
and good sense,--thanks, awfully! Nor you, my dear Bruno, although my inbred
politeness forbids my explaining just why."
There was a
queer-sounding chuckle as Professor Featherwit turned away, busying himself about
that rude-built shed and shanty which sheltered the pride of his brain and the
pet of his heart, while Bruno smiled indulgently as he took a few steps away
from those stunted trees in order to gain a fairer view of the stormy heavens.
Far away towards the
northeast, rising above the distant hill, now showed an ugly-looking cloud-bank
which almost certainly portended a storm of no ordinary dimensions.
Had it first appeared
in the opposite quarter of the horizon, Bruno would have felt a stronger interest
in the clouds, knowing as he did that the miscalled "cyclone" almost
invariably finds birth in the southwest. Then, too, nearly all the other
symptoms were noticeable,--the close, "muggy" atmosphere; the
deathlike stillness; the lack of oxygen in the air, causing one to breathe more
rapidly, yet with far less satisfying results than usual.
Even as Bruno gazed,
those heavy cloud-banks changed, both in shape and in colour, taking on a
peculiar greenish lustre which only too accurately forebodes hail of no
ordinary force.
His cry to this effect
brought the professor forth from the shed-like shanty, while Waldo roused up
sufficiently to speak:
"To say nothing of
yonder formation way out over the salty drink, my worthy friends, who intimated
that a cyclone was born at sea?"
Professor Featherwit
frowned a bit as his keen little rat-like eyes turned towards that quarter of
the heavens; but the frown was not for Waldo, nor for his slightly irreverent
speech.
Where but a few minutes
before there had been only a few light clouds in sight, was now a heavy bank of
remarkable shape, its crest a straight line as though marked by an enormous
ruler, while the lower edge was broken into sharp points and irregular
sections, the whole seeming to float upon a low sea of grayish copper.
"Well, well, that
looks ugly, decidedly ugly, I must confess," the wiry little professor
spoke, after that keen scrutiny.
"Really,
now?" drawled Waldo, who was nothing if not contrary on the surface.
"Barring a certain little topsy-turvyness which is something out of the
ordinary, I’d call that a charming bit of-- Great guns and little
cannon-balls!"
For just then there
came a shrieking blast of wind from out the northeast, bringing upon its wings
a brief shower of hail, intermingled with great drops of rain which pelted all
things with scarcely less force than did those frozen particles.
"Hurrah!"
shrilly screamed Waldo, as he dashed out into the storm, fairly revelling in
the sudden change. "Who says this isn’t ‘’way up in G?’ Who says--out of
the way, Bruno! Shut that trap-door in your face, so another fellow may get at
least a share of the good things coming straight down from--ow--wow!"
Through the now driving
rain came flashing larger particles, and one of more than ordinary size
rebounded from that curly pate, sending its owner hurriedly to shelter beneath
the scrubby trees, one hand ruefully rubbing the injured part.
Faster fell the drops,
both of rain and of ice, clattering against the shanty and its adjoining shed
with an uproar audible even above the sullenly rolling peals of heavy thunder.
The rain descended in
perfect sheets for a few minutes, while the hailstones fell thicker and faster,
growing in size as the storm raged, already beginning to lend those red sands a
pearly tinge with their dancing particles. Now and then an aerial monster would
fall, to draw a wondering cry from the brothers, and on more than one occasion
Waldo risked a cracked crown by dashing forth from shelter to snatch up a
remarkable specimen.
"Talk about your
California fruit! what’s the matter with good old Washington Territory?"
he cried, tightly clenching one fist and holding a hailstone alongside by way
of comparison. "Look at that, will you? Isn’t it a beauty? See the
different shaded rings of white and clear ice. See--brother, it is as large as
my fist!"
But for once Professor
Phaeton Featherwit was fairly deaf to the claims of this, in some respects his
favourite nephew, having scuttled back beneath the shed, where he was busily
stowing away sundry articles of importance into a queerly shaped machine which
those rough planks fairly shielded from the driving storm.
Having performed this
duty to his own satisfaction, the professor came back to where the brothers
were standing, viewing with them such of the storm as could be itemised. That
was but little, thanks to the driving rain, which cut one’s vision short at but
a few rods, while the deafening peals of thunder prevented any connected
conversation during those first few minutes.
"Good thing we’ve
got a shelter!" cried Waldo, involuntarily shrinking as the plank roof was
hammered by several mammoth stones of ice. "One of those chunks of ice
would crack a fellow’s skull just as easy!"
Yet the next instant he
was out in the driving storm, eagerly snatching at a brace of those frozen
marvels, heedless of his own risk or of the warning shouts sent after him by
those cooler-brained comrades.
Thunder crashed in
wildest unison with almost blinding sheets of lightning, the rain and hail
falling thicker and heavier than ever for a few moments; but then, as suddenly
as it had come, the storm passed on, leaving but a few scattered drops to fetch
up the rear.
"Isn’t that pretty
nearly what people call a cloudburst, uncle Phaeton?" asked Bruno,
curiously watching that receding mass of what from their present standpoint
looked like vapour.
"Those wholly
ignorant of meteorological phenomena might so pronounce, perhaps, but never one
who has given the matter either thought or study," promptly responded the
professor, in no wise loth to give a free lecture, no matter how brief it might
be, perforce. "It is merely nature seeking to restore a disturbed
equilibrium; a current of colder air, in search of a temporary vacuum, caused
by--"
"But isn’t that
just what produces cy--tornadoes, though?" interrupted Waldo, with scant
politeness.
"Precisely, my
dear boy," blandly agreed their mentor, rubbing his hands briskly, while
peering through rain-dampened glasses, after that departing storm. "And I
have scarcely a doubt but that a tornado of no ordinary magnitude will be the
final outcome of this remarkable display. For, as the record will amply prove,
the most destructive windstorms are invariably heralded by a fall of hail,
heavy in proportion to the--"
"Then I’d rather
be excused, thank you, sir!" again interrupted the younger of the
brothers, shrugging his shoulders as he stepped forth from shelter to win a
fairer view of the space stretching away towards the south and the west.
"I always laughed at tales of hailstones large as hen’s eggs, but now I
know better. If I was a hen, and had to match such a pattern as these, I’d
petition the legislature to change my name to that of ostrich,--I just would,
now!"
Bruno proved to be a
little more amenable to the law of politeness, and to him Professor Featherwit
confined his sapient remarks for the time being, giving no slight amount of
valuable information anent these strange phenomena of nature in travail.
He spoke of the
different varieties of land-storms, showing how a tornado varied from a
hurricane or a gale, then again brought to the front the vital difference
between a cyclone, as such, and the miscalled "twister," which has
wrought such dire destruction throughout a large portion of our own land during
more recent years.
While that little
lecture would make interesting reading for those who take an interest in such
matters, it need scarcely be reproduced in this connection, more particularly
as, just when the professor was getting fairly warmed up to his work, an
interruption came in the shape of a sharp, eager shout from the lips of Waldo
Gillespie.
"Look--look
yonder! What a funny looking cloud that is!"
A small clump of trees
growing upon a rising bit of ground interfered with the view of his brother and
uncle, for Waldo was pointing almost due southeast; yet his excitement was so
pronounced that both the professor and Bruno hastened in that direction,
stopping short as they caught a fair sight of the object indicated.
A mighty mass of wildly
disturbed clouds, black and green and white and yellow all blending together
and constantly shifting positions, out of which was suddenly formed a still
more ominous shape.
A mass of lurid vapour
shot downwards, taking on the general semblance of a balloon, as it swayed
madly back and forth, an elongating trunk or tongue reaching still nearer the
earth, with fierce gyrations, as though seeking to fasten upon some support.
Not one of that trio
had ever before gazed upon just such another creation, yet one and all
recognised the truth,--this was a veritable tornado, just such as they had read
in awed wonder about, time and time again.
Neither one of the
brothers Gillespie were cravens, in any sense of the word, but now their cheeks
grew paler, and they seemed to shrink from yonder airy monster, even while
watching it grow into shape and awful power.
Professor Featherwit
was no less absorbed in this wondrous spectacle, but his was the interest of a
scientist, and his pulse beat as ordinary, his brain remaining as clear and
calm as ever.
"I hardly believe
we have anything to fear from this tornado, my lads," he said, taking note
of their uneasiness. "According to both rule and precedent, yonder tornado
will pass to the east of our present position, and we will be as safe right
here as though we were a thousand miles away."
"But,--do they
always move towards the northeast, uncle Phaeton?"
"As a rule, yes;
but there are exceptions, of course. And unless this should prove to be one of
those rare ex--er--"
"Look!" cried
Waldo, with swift gesticulation. "It’s coming this way, or I never--isn’t
it coming this way?"
"Unless this
should prove to be one of those rare exceptions, my dear boy, I can promise you
that-- Upon my soul!" with an abrupt change of both tone and manner,
"I really believe it is coming this way!"
"It is--it is
coming! Get a move on, or we’ll never know--hunt a hole and pull it in after
you!" fairly screamed Waldo, turning in flight.
"To the house!"
cried the professor, raising his voice to overcome yonder sullen roar, which
was now beginning to come their way. "Trust all to the aeromotor, and ’twill
be well with us!"
The wiry little man of
science himself fell to work with an energy which told how serious he regarded
the emergency, and, acting under his lead, the brothers manfully played their
part.
Just as had been done
many times before this day, a queer-looking machine was shoved out from the
shed, gliding along the wooden ways prepared for that express purpose, while
Professor Featherwit hurried aboard a few articles which past experience warned
him might prove of service in the hours to come, then sharply cried to his
nephews:
"Get aboard, lads!
Time enough, yet none to spare in idle motions. See! The storm is drifting our
way in deadly earnest!"
And so it seemed, in
good sooth.
Now fairly at its dread
work of destruction, tearing up the rain dampened dirt and playing with mighty
boulders, tossing them here and there, as a giant of olden tales might play
with jackstones, snapping off sturdy trees and whipping them to splinters even
while hurling them as a farmer sows his grain.
Just the one brief look
at that aerial monster, then both lads hung fast to the hand-rail of rope,
while the professor put that cunning machinery in motion, causing the air-ship
to rise from its ways with a sudden swooping movement, then soaring upward and
onward, in a fair curve, as graceful and steady as a bird on wing.
All this took some
little time, even while the trio were working as men only can when dear life is
at stake; but the flying-machine was afloat and fairly off upon the most
marvellous journey mortals ever accomplished, and that ere yonder death-balloon
could cover half the distance between.
"Grand! Glorious!
Magnificent!" fairly exploded the professor, when he could risk a more
comprehensive look, right hand tightly gripping the polished lever through
which he controlled that admirable mechanism. "I have longed for just such
an opportunity, and now--the camera, Bruno! We must never neglect to improve
such a marvellous chance for--get out the camera, lad!"
"Get out of the
road, rather!" bluntly shouted Waldo, face unusually pale, as he stared at
yonder awful force in action. "Of course I’m not scared, or anything like
that, uncle Phaeton, but--I want to rack out o’ this just about the quickest
the law allows! Yes, I do, now!"
"Wonderful!
Marvellous! Incredible! That rara avis, an exception to all exceptions!"
declared the professor, more deeply stirred than either of his nephews had ever
seen him before. "A genuine tornado which has no eastern drift; which
heads as directly as possible towards the northwest, and at the same
time--incredible!"
Only ears of his own
caught these sentences in their entirety, for now the storm was fairly
bellowing in its might, formed of a variety of sounds which baffles all
description, but which, in itself, was more than sufficient to chill the blood
of even a brave man. Yet, almost as though magnetised by that frightful force,
the professor was holding his air-ship steady, loitering there in its direct
path, rather than fleeing from what surely would prove utter destruction to man
and machine alike.
For a few moments Bruno
withstood the temptation, but then leaned far enough to grasp both hand and
tiller, forcing them in the requisite direction, causing the aeromotor to swing
easily around and dart away almost at right angles to the track of the tornado.
That roar was now as of
a thousand heavily laden trains rumbling over hollow bridges, and the professor
could only nod his approval when thus aroused from the dangerous fascination.
Another minute, and the air-ship was floating towards the rear of the
balloon-shaped cloud itself, each second granting the passengers a varying view
of the wonder.
True to the firm hand
which set its machinery in motion, the flying-machine maintained that gentle
curve until it swung around well to the rear of the cloud, where again
Professor Featherwit broke out in ecstatic praises of their marvellous good
fortune.
" ’Tis worth a
life’s ransom, for never until now hath mortal being been blessed with such a
magnificent opportunity for taking notes and drawing deductions which--"
The professor nimbly
ducked his head to dodge a ragged splinter of freshly torn wood which came
whistling past, cast far away from the tornado proper by those erratic winds.
And at the same instant the machine itself recoiled, shivering and creaking in
all its cunning joints under a gust of wind which seemed composed of both ice
and fire.
"Oh, I say!"
gasped Waldo, when he could rally from the sudden blow. "Turn the old
thing the other way, uncle Phaeton, and let’s go look for--well, almost
anything’s better than this old cyclone!"
"Tornado, lad,"
swiftly corrected the man of precision, leaning far forward, and gazing
enthralled upon the vision which fairly thrilled his heart to its very centre.
"Never again may we have such another opportunity for making--"
They were now directly
in the rear of the storm, and as the air-ship headed across that track of
destruction, it gave a drunken stagger, casting down its inmates, from whose
parching lips burst cries of varying import.
"Air! I’m
choking!" gasped Bruno, tearing open his shirt-collar with a spasmodic
motion.
"Hold me
fast!" echoed Waldo, clinging desperately to the life-line. "It’s
drawing me--into the--ah!"
Even the professor gave
certain symptoms of alarm for that moment, but then the danger seemed past as
the ship darted fairly across the storm-trail, hovering to the east of that
aerial phantom.
There was no difficulty
in filling their lungs now, and once more Professor Featherwit headed the
flying-machine directly for the balloon-shaped cloud, modulating its pace so as
to maintain their relative position fairly well.
"Take note how it
progresses,--by fits and starts, as it were," observed Featherwit, now in
his glory, eyes asparkle and muscles aquiver, hair bristling as though full of
electricity, face glowing with almost painful interest, as those shifting
scenes were for ever imprinted upon his brain.
"Sort of a hop,
step, and jump, and that’s a fact," agreed Waldo, now a bit more at his
ease since that awful sense of suffocation was lacking. "I thought all
cyclones--"
"Tornado, my dear
boy!" expostulated the professor.
"I thought they
all went in holy hurry, like they were sent for and had mighty little time in
which to get there. But this one,--see how it stops to dance a jig and bore
holes in the earth!"
"Another exception
to the general rule, which is as you say," admitted the professor.
"Different tornadoes have been timed as moving from twelve to seventy
miles an hour, one passing a given point in half a score of seconds, at another
time being registered as fully half an hour in clearing a single section.
"Take the
destructive storm at Mount Carmel, Illinois, in June of ’77. That made progress
at the rate of thirty-four miles an hour, yet its force was so mighty that it
tore away the spire, vane, and heavy gilded ball of the Methodist church, and
kept it in air over a distance of fifteen miles.
"Still later was
the Texas tornado, doing its awful work at the rate of more than sixty miles an
hour; while that which swept through Frankfort, Kansas, on May 17, 1896, was
fully a half-hour in crossing a half-mile stretch of bottom-land adjoining the
Vermillion River, pausing in its dizzy waltz upon a single spot for long
minutes at a time."
"Couldn’t have
been much left when it got through dancing, if that storm was anything like
this one," declared Waldo, shivering a bit as he watched the awful
destruction being wrought right before their fascinated eyes.
Trees were twisted off
and doubled up like blades of dry grass. Mighty rocks were torn apart from the
rugged hills, and huge boulders were tossed into air as though composed of
paper. And over all ascended the horrid roar of ruin beyond description, while
from that misshapen balloon-cloud, with its flattened top, the electric fluid
shone and flashed, now in great sheets as of flame, then in vicious spurts and
darts as though innumerable snakes of fire had been turned loose by the winds.
Still the aerial demon
bored its almost sluggish course straight towards the northwest, in this, as in
all else, seemingly bent on proving itself the exception to all exceptions as
Professor Featherwit declared.
The savant himself was
now in his glory, holding the tiller between arm and side, the better to
manipulate his hand-camera, with which he was taking repeated snap-shots for
future development and reference.
Truly, as he more than
once declared, mortal man never had, nor mortal man ever would have, such a
glorious opportunity for recording the varying phases of nature in travail as
was now vouchsafed themselves.
"Just think of it,
lads!" he cried, almost beside himself with enthusiasm. "This alone
will be sufficient to carry our names ringing through all time down the
corridors of undying fame! This alone would be more than enough to-- Look
pleasant, please!"
In spite of that awful
vision so perilously close before them, and the natural uncertainty which
attended such a reckless venture, Waldo could not repress a chuckle at that
comical conclusion, so frequently used towards himself when their uncle was
coaxing them to pose before his pet camera.
"Is it--surely
this is not safe, uncle Phaeton?" ventured Bruno, as another retrograde
gust of air smote their apparently frail conveyance with sudden force.
"Let’s call it a
day’s work, and knock off," chimed in Waldo. "If the blamed thing
should take a notion to balk, and rear back on its haunches, where’d we come
out at?"
Professor Featherwit
made an impatient gesture by way of answer. Speech just then would have been
worse than useless, for that tremendous roaring, crashing, thundering of all
sounds, seemed to fall back and envelop the air-ship as with a pall.
A shower of sand and
fine débris poured over and around them, filling ears and mouths, and blinding
eyes for the moment, forcing the brothers closer to the floor of the aerostat,
and even compelling the eager professor to remit his taking of notes for future
generations.
Then, thin and
reed-like, yet serving to pierce that temporary obscurity and horrible jangle
of outer sounds, came the voice of their relative:
"Fear not, my
children! The Lord is our shield, and so long as he willeth, just so long shall
we-- Ha! didn’t I tell ye so?"
For the blinding veil
was torn away, and once again the trio of adventurers might watch yonder
grandly awesome march of devastation.
"Heading direct
for the Olympics!" declared Professor Featherwit, digging the sand out of
his eyes and striving to clean his glasses without removing them, clinging to
tiller and camera through all. "What a grand and glorious guide ’twould be
for us!"
"If we could only
hitch on--like a tin can to the tail of a dog!" suggested Waldo, with
boyish sarcasm. "Not any of that in mine, thank you! I can wait. No such
mighty rush. No,--sir!"
There came no answer to
his words, for just then that swooping air-demon turned to vivid fire,
lightning playing back and forth, from side to side, in every conceivable
direction, until in spite of the broad daylight its glory pained those watching
eyes.
"Did you ever witness
the like!" awesomely cried Bruno, gazing like one fascinated. "Who
could or would ever believe all that, even if tongue were able to portray its
wondrous beauty?"
"What a place that
would be for popping corn!" contributed Waldo, practical or nothing, even
under such peculiar circumstances. "If I had to play poppy, though, I’d
want a precious long handle to the concern!"
More intensely
interested than ever, Professor Featherwit plied his shutter, taking shot after
shot at yonder aerial phenomena, feeling that future generations would surely
rise up to call him blessed when the results of his experiments were once
fairly spread before the world.
And hence it came to
pass that still more thrilling experiences came unto these daring navigators of
space, and that almost before one or the other of them could fairly realise
that greater danger really menaced both their air-ship and their lives.
Another whirly-gust of
sand and other débris assailed the flying-machine, and while sight was thus
rendered almost useless for the time being, the aerostat began to sway and reel
from side to side, shivering as though caught by an irresistible power, yet
against which it battled as though instinct with life and brain-power.
Once again the
adventurers found it difficult to breathe, while an unseen power seemed
pressing them to that floor as though-- Thank heaven!
Just as before, that
cloud was swept away, and again air came to fill those painfully oppressed
lungs. Once again the trio cleared their eyes and stared about, only to utter
simultaneous cries of alarm.
For, brief though that
period of blindness had been, ’twas amply sufficient to carry the aeromotor
perilously near yonder storm-centre, and though Professor Featherwit gripped
hard his tiller, trying all he knew to turn the air-ship for a safer quarter,-’twas
all in vain!
"Haste,--make
haste, uncle Phaeton!" hoarsely panted Bruno, leaning to aid the
professor. "We will be sucked in and--hasten, for life!"
"I can’t,--we’re
already--in the--suction!"
WHETHER it was that the
air-ship itself had increased its speed during those few moments of dense
obscurity, or whether the madly whirling winds had taken a retrograde movement
at that precise time, could only be a matter of conjecture; but the ominous
fact remained.
The aerostat was fairly
over the danger-line, and, despite all efforts being made to the contrary, was
being drawn directly towards that howling, crashing, thundering mass of
destructive energy.
Already the inmates
felt themselves being sucked from the flying-machine, and instinctively
tightened their grip upon hand-rail and floor, gasping and oppressed, breath
failing, and ribs apparently being crushed in by that horrible pressure.
"Hold fast--for
life!" pantingly screamed Professor Featherwit, as he strove in vain to
check or change the course of his aeromotor, now for the first time beyond
control of that master-hand.
A few seconds of
soul-trying suspense, during which the flying-machine shivered from stem to
stern, almost like a human creature in its death-agony, creaking and groaning,
with shrill sounds coming from those expanded, curved wings, as the suction
increased; then--
A merciful darkness
fell over those sorely imperilled beings, and the vessel itself seemed about to
be overwhelmed by an avalanche of sand and dirt and mixed débris. Then came a
dizzy, rocking lurch, followed by a shock which nearly cast uncle and nephews
from their frantic holds, and the air-ship appeared to be whirled end for end,
cast hither and yon, wrenched and twisted as though all must go to ruin
together.
A blast as of
superheated air smote upon them one moment, while in the next they were whirled
through an icy atmosphere, then tossed dizzily to and fro, as their too-frail
vehicle spun upward as though on a journey to the far-away stars.
A shrieking blast of
wind served to briefly clear away the choking dust, affording the trio a
fleeting glimpse of their immediate surroundings: hurtling sticks and stones,
splintered tops of trees, shrubs with wildly lashing roots freshly torn from
the bed of years, all madly spinning through a blinding, scorching, freezing
mass of crazily battling winds, the different currents twining and weaving in
and out, as so many hideous serpents at play.
A moment thus, then
that horrid uproar grew still more deafening, and the air-ship was whirled high
and higher, in a dizzy dance, those luckless creatures clinging fast to
whatever their frenzied hands might clutch, feeling that this was the end of
all.
Further sight was
denied them. They were powerless to move a limb, save as jerked painfully by
those shrieking currents. Breath was taken away, and an enormous weight bore
down upon them, threatening to produce a fatal collapse through their ribs
giving way.
Upward whirled the
flying-machine, powerless now as those wretched beings within its cunning
shape, smitten sharply here and there by some of those ascending missiles, yet
without receiving material injury; until a last shivering lurch came, ending in
a sudden fall.
A dizzying swoop
downward, but not to death and destruction, for the aerostat alighted easily upon
what appeared to be a sort of air-cushion, and, though unsteady for a brief
space, then settled upon an even keel.
"Cling fast--for
life!" huskily gasped the professor, unwittingly repeating the caution
which had last crossed his lips, which he had ever since been striving to
enunciate, faithful to his guardianship over these, his sole surviving
relatives.
"I don’t--where
are we?"
Waldo lifted his head
to peer with half-blind eyes about them, in which action he was imitated by
both brother and uncle; but, for a brief space, they were none the wiser.
All around the
aeromotor rose a wall of whirling winds, seemingly impenetrable, apparently
within reach of an extended arm, changing colour with each fraction of a
second, hideously beautiful, yet never twice the same in blend or mixture.
A hollow, strangely
sounding roar was perceptible; one instant coming as from the far distance,
then from nigh at hand, causing the air-ship to quiver and tremble, as a
sentient being might in the presence of a torturing death.
"Look--upward!"
panted Bruno, a few seconds later, his face as pale as that of a corpse, in
spite of the dirt and blotches of sticky mud with which he had been peppered
during that dizzy whirl.
Mechanically his
companions in peril obeyed, catching breath sharply, as they saw a clear sky
and yellow sunshine far above,--so awfully far they were, that it seemed like
looking upward from the bottom of an enormously deep well.
And then the marvellous
truth flashed upon the brain of Phaeton Featherwit, almost robbing him of all
power of speech. Still he managed to jerkily ejaculate:
"We’re
inside,--riding the--tornado--itself!"
Then those whirling
winds closed quickly above them, shutting out the sunlight, hiding the heavens
from their view, enclosing that vehicle and its occupants, as they were borne
away into unknown regions, within the very heart of the tornado itself!
Yet, incredible as it
surely seems, no actual harm came to the trio or to their flying-machine as it
swayed gently upon its airy cushion, although from every side came the horrid
roar of destruction, while ever and anon they could glimpse a wrestling tree or
torn mass of shrubbery whizzing upward and outward, to be flung far away beyond
the vortex of electrical winds.
Once more came that
awful sense of suffocation. That painted pall closed down upon them, robbing
their lungs of air, one instant fairly crisping their hair with a touch of
fire, only to send an icy chill to their veins a moment later.
In vain they struggled,
fighting for breath, as a fish gasps when swung from its native element. While
that horrid pressure endured, man, youth, and boy alike were powerless.
Again the pall lifted,
folding back and blending with those madly circling currents, once again affording
a glimpse of yonder far-away heavens, so marvellously clear, and bright, and
peaceful in seeming!
Weakened by those
terrible moments, Bruno and Waldo lay gasping, trembling, faint of heart and
ill of body, yet filling their lungs with comparatively pure air,--pity there
was so little of it to win!
Professor Featherwit
still had thought and care for his nephews rather than himself alone, and
pantingly spoke, as he dragged himself to the snug locker, where many important
articles had been stowed away:
"Here--suck
life--compressed air!"
With husky cries the
brothers caught at the tubes offered, the method of working which had so often
been explained by their relative.
Once more the tube
became a chamber, and that horrid force threatened to flatten their bodies; but
the worst had passed, for that precious cylinder now gave them air to inhale,
and they were enabled to wait for the lifting of the cloud once more.
Thanks to this
important agency, strength and energy both of body and of mind now came back to
the air-voyagers, and after a little they could lift their heads to peer around
them with growing wonder and curiosity.
There was little room
left for doubting the wondrous truth, and yet belief was past their powers
during those first few minutes.
All around them whirled
and sped those maddened winds, curling and twisting, rising and falling, mixing
in and out as though some unknown power might be weaving the web of destiny.
Now dull, now
brilliant, never twice the same, but ever changing in colour as in shape, while
stripes and zigzags of lightning played here and there with terrifying menace,
those walls of wind held an awfully fascinating power for uncle and nephews.
From every side came
deadened sounds which could bear but a single interpretation: the tornado was
still in rapid motion, was still tearing and rending, crushing and battering,
leaving dire destruction and ruin to mark its advance, and these were the sounds
that recorded its ugly work.
In goodly measure
revived by the compressed air, which was regulated in flow to suit his
requirements by a device of his own, Professor Featherwit now looked around
with something of his wonted animation, heedless of his own peril for the
moment, so great was his interest in this marvellous happening.
So utterly incredible
was it all that, during those first few minutes of rallying powers, he dared
not express the belief which was shaping itself, gazing around in quest of still
further confirmation.
He took note of the
windy walls about their vessel, rising upward for many yards, irregular in
shape and curvature here and there, but retaining the general semblance of a
tube with flaring top. He peered over the edge of the basket, to draw back
dizzily as he saw naught but yeasty, boiling, seething clouds below,--a
veritable air-cushion which had served to save the pet of his brain from utter
destruction at the time of falling within--
Yes, there was no
longer room for doubt,--they were actually inside the distorted balloon, so
dreaded by all residents of the tornado belt!
"What is it,
uncle?" huskily asked Bruno, likewise rallying under that beneficial
influence. "Where are we now?"
"Where I’m wishing
mighty hard we wasn’t, anyhow!" contributed Waldo, with something of his
usual energy, although, judging from his face and eyes, the youngster had
suffered more severely than either of his comrades in peril.
Professor Featherwit
broke into a queerly sounding laugh, as he waved his free hand in exultation
before speaking:
"Where no living
being ever was before us, my lads,--riding the tornado like a--ugh!"
The air-ship gave an
awkward lurch just then, and down went the little professor to thump his head
heavily against one corner of the locker. Swaying drunkenly from side to side,
then tossing up and down, turning in unison with those fiercely whirling
clouds, the aeromotor seemed at the point of wreck and ruin.
Desperately the trio
clung to the life-lines, clenching teeth upon the life-giving tubes as that
terrible pressure increased so much that it seemed impossible for the human
frame to longer resist.
Fortunately that ordeal
did not long endure, and again relief came to those so sorely oppressed. A
brief gasping, sighing, stretching as the aerostat resumed its level position,
merely rocking easily within that partial vacuum, and then Waldo huskily
suggested:
"Looks like the
blame thing was sick at the stomach!"
No doubt this was meant
for a feeble attempt at joking, but Professor Featherwit took it for earnest,
and made quick reply:
"That is precisely
the case, my dear lad, and I am greatly joyed to find that you are not so badly
frightened but that you can assist me in taking notes of this wondrous
happening. To think that we are the ones selected for--"
"I say, uncle
Phaeton."
"Well, my
lad?"
"If this thing is
really sick at the stomach, when will it erupt? I’d give a dollar and a half to
just get out o’ this, science or no science, notes or no notes at all!"
"Patience, my dear
boy," gravely spoke the little man of science, busily studying those
eddying currents like one seeking a fairly safe method of extrication from
peril. "It may come far sooner than you think, and with results more
disastrous than feeble words can tell. We surely are a burden such as a tornado
must be wholly unaccustomed to, and I really believe these alternations are
spasmodic efforts of the cloud itself to vomit us forth; hence you were nearer
right than you thought in making use of that expression."
Just then came a rush
of icy air, and Bruno pantingly cried:
"I’m swelling
up--like Æsop’s--bullfrog!"
AGAIN those involuntary
riders of the tornado were tossed violently to and fro in their seemingly frail
ship, while the balloon itself appeared threatened with instant dissolution,
those eddying currents growing broken and far less regular in action, while the
fierce tumult grew in sound and volume a thousandfold.
All around the air-ship
now showed ugly débris, limbs and boughs and even whole trunks of giant trees
being whirled upward and outward, each moment menacing the vessel with total
destruction, yet as frequently vanishing without infringing seriously upon
their curious prison.
Sand and dirt and
fragments of shattered rock whistled by in an apparently unending shower, only
with reversed motion, flying upward in place of shooting downward to earth
itself.
Speech was utterly
impossible under the circumstances, and the fate-tossed voyagers could only
cling fast to the hand-rail, and hold those precious air-tubes in readiness for
the worst.
Never before had either
of the trio heard such a deafening crash and uproar, and little wonder if they
thought this surely must herald the crack of doom!
The tornado seemed to
reel backward, as though repulsed by an immovable obstacle, and then, while the
din was a bit less deafening, Professor Featherwit contrived to make himself
heard, through screaming at the top of his voice:
"The mountain
range, I fancy! It’s a battle to the--"
That sentence was
perforce left incomplete, since the storm-demon gave another mad plunge to
renew the battle, bringing on a repetition of that drunken swaying so upsetting
to both mind and body.
A few seconds thus,
then the tornado conquered, or else rose higher in partial defeat, for their
progress was resumed, and comparative quiet reigned again.
The higher clouds
curved backward, affording a wider view of the heavens far above, and, as all
eyes turned instinctively in that direction, Bruno involuntarily exclaimed:
"Still daylight! I
thought--how long has this lasted?"
"It’s the middle o’
next week; no less!" positively affirmed his brother. "Don’t tell me!
We’ve been in here a solid month, by my watch!"
Instead of making reply
such as might have been expected from one of his mathematical exactness,
Professor Featherwit gave a cry of dismay, while hurriedly moving to and fro in
their contracted quarters, for the time being forgetful of all other than this,
his great loss.
"What is it, uncle
Phaeton?" asked Bruno, rising to his knees in natural anxiety.
"Surely nothing worse than has already happened to us?"
"Worse? What could
be worse than losing for ever--the camera, boys; where is the camera, I ask
you?"
Certainly not where the
professor was looking, and even as he roared forth that query, his heart told
him the sad truth; past doubting, the instrument upon whose aid he relied to
place upon record these marvellous facts, so that all mankind might see and
have full faith, was lost,--thrown from the aerostat, to meet with certain
destruction, when the vessel first came within the tornado’s terrible clutch.
"Gone,--lost,--and
now who will believe that we ever--oh, this is enough to crush one’s very
soul!" mourned the professor, throwing up his hands, and sinking back to
the floor of the flying-machine in a limp and disheartened heap for the time
being.
Neither Bruno nor Waldo
could fully appreciate that grief, since thoughts and care for self were still
the ruling passion with both; but once more they were called upon to do battle
with the swaying of the winds, and once again were they saved only through that
life-giving cylinder of compressed air.
Presently, the
heart-broken professor rallied, as was his nature, and, with a visible effort
putting his great loss behind him, endeavoured to cheer up his comrades in
peril.
"So far we have
passed through all danger without receiving material injury,--to ourselves, I
mean,--and surely it is not too much to hope for eventual escape?" he
said, earnestly, pressing the hands of his nephews, by way of additional encouragement.
"Yes,"
hesitated Bruno, with an involuntary shiver, as he glanced around them upon
those furiously boiling clouds, then cast an eye upward, towards yonder clear
sky. "Yes, but--in what manner?"
"What’ll we do
when the cyclone goes bu’st?" cut in Waldo, with disagreeable bluntness.
"It can’t go on for ever, and when it splits up,--where will we be
then?"
"I wish it lay
within my power to give you full assurance on all points, my dear boys,"
the professor made reply. "I only wish I could ensure your perfect safety
by giving my own poor remnant of life--"
"No, no, uncle
Phaeton!" cried the brothers, in a single breath.
"How cheerfully,
if I only might!" insisted the professor, his homely face wearing an
expression of blended regret and unbounded affection. "But for me you
would never have encountered these perils, nor ever--"
Again he was
interrupted by the brothers, and forced to leave that regret unspoken to the
end.
"Only for you,
uncle Phaeton, what would have become of us when we were left without parents,
home, fortune? Only for you, taking us in and treating us as though of your own
flesh and blood--"
"As you are, my
good lads! Let it pass, then, but I must say that I do wish--well, well, let it
pass, then!"
A brief silence, which
was spent in gripping hands and with eyes giving pledges of love and undying
confidence; then Professor Featherwit spoke again, in an entirely different
vein.
"If nothing else,
we have exploded one fallacy which has never met with contradiction, so far as
my poor knowledge goes."
"And that
is--what, uncle Phaeton?"
"Observe, my
lads," with a wave of his hand towards those whirling walls, and then
making a downward motion. "You see that we are floating in a partial
vacuum, yet where there is air sufficient to preserve life under difficulties.
And by looking downward--careful that you don’t fall overboard through
dizziness, though!"
"Looks as though
we were floating just above a bed of ugly wind!" declared Waldo, after
taking a look below.
"Precisely; the
aerostat rests upon an air-cushion amply solid enough to sustain far more than
our combined weight. But what is the generally accepted view, my dear
boys?"
"You tell, for we
don’t know how," frankly acknowledged Waldo.
"Thanks. Yet you are
now far wiser than all of the scientists who have written and published whole
libraries concerning these storm formations, but whose fallacies we are now
fully prepared to explode, once for all, through knowledge won by personal
investigation--ahem!"
Strange though it may
appear, the professor forgot the mutual danger by which they were surrounded,
and trotted off on his hobby-horse in blissful pride, paying no attention to
the hideous uproar going on, only raising his voice higher to make it heard by
his youthful auditors.
"The common belief
is that, while these tornadoes are hollow, even through the trunk or tongue
down to its contact with the earth, that hollow is caused by a constant
suction, through which a steady stream of débris is flowing, to be sown
broadcast for miles around after emerging from the open top of the so-called
balloon."
"But it isn’t at
all like that," eagerly cried Waldo, pointing to where the fragments were
flowing upward through those walls themselves, yet far enough from that hollow
interior to be but indistinctly seen save on rare occasions. "Look at ’em
scoot, will ye? Oh, if we could only climb up like that!"
Professor Featherwit
was keenly watching and closely studying that very phenomena through all, and
now he gave a queer little chuckle, as he nodded his head with vigour, before
dryly speaking.
"Well, it might be
done; yes, it might be done, and that with no very serious difficulty, my
lad."
"How? Why not try
it on, then?"
"To meet with
instant death outside?" sharply queried Bruno. "It would be suicidal
to make the attempt, even if we could; which I doubt."
Waldo gave a sudden
cry, pointing upward where, far above that destructive storm, could be seen a
brace of buzzards floating on motionless wings, wholly undisturbed by the
tumult below.
"If we were only
like that!" the lad cried, longingly. "If a flying-machine could be
built like those turkey-buzzards! I wish--well, I do suppose they’re about the
nastiest varmints ever hatched, but just now I’d be willing to swap, and wouldn’t
ask any boot, either!"
Apparently the
professor paid no attention to this boyish plaint, for he was fumbling in the
locker, then withdrew his hand and uncoiled an ordinary fish-line, with painted
float attached.
Before either brother
could ask a question, or even give a guess at his purpose, Professor Phaeton
flung hook and cork into those circling currents, only to have the whole jerked
violently out of his grip, the line flying upward, to vanish from the sight of
all.
That jerk was powerful
enough to cut through the skin of his hand, but the professor chuckled like one
delighted, as he sucked away the few drops of blood before adding:
"I knew it! It can
be done, and if the worst should come to pass, why should it not be done?"
Before an answer could
be vouchsafed by either of the brothers, the pall swooped down upon them once
more, and again the supply of natural air was shut off, while their vessel was
rocked and swayed crazily, just as though the delayed end was at last upon
them.
For several minutes
this torture endured, each second of which appeared to be an hour to those
imperilled beings, who surely must have perished, as they lay pinned fast to
the floor of the aerostat by that pitiless weight, only for the precious
air-tubes in connection with that cylinder of compressed air.
After a seeming age of
torment the awful pressure was relaxed, leaving the trio gasping and shivering,
as they lay side by side, barely conscious that life lingered, for the moment
unable to lift hand or head to aid either self or another.
In spite of his far
greater age, Professor Featherwit was first to rally, and his voice was about
the first thing distinguished by the brothers, as their powers began to rally.
"Shall we take our
chances, dear boys?" the professor was saying, in earnest tones. "I
believe there is a method of escaping from this hell-chamber, although of what
may lie beyond--"
"It can’t well be
worse than this!" huskily gasped Bruno.
"Anything--everything--just
to get out o’ here!" supplemented Waldo, for once all spirits subdued.
"It may be death
for us all, even if we do get outside," gravely warned the professor.
"Bear that in mind, dear boys. It may be that not one of us will escape
with life, after--"
"How much better
to remain here?" interrupted Bruno. "I felt death would be a
mercy--then! And I’d risk anything, everything, rather than go through such
another ordeal! I say,--escape!"
"Me too, all
over!" vigorously decided Waldo, lifting himself to both knees as he
added: "Tell us what to do, and here I am, on deck, uncle."
Even now Professor
Phaeton hesitated, his eyes growing dimmer than usual as they rested upon one
face after the other, for right well he knew how deadly would be the peril thus
invited.
But, as the brothers
repeated their cry, he turned away to swiftly knot a strong trail-rope to a
heavy iron grapnel, leaving the other end firmly attached to a stanchion built
for that express purpose.
"Hold fast, if you
value life at all, dear boys!" he warned, then added: "Heaven be kind
to you, even if my life pays the forfeit! Now!"
Without further delay,
he cast the heavy grapnel into that mass of boiling vapour, then fell flat, as
an awful jerk was given the aerostat.
THERE was neither time
nor opportunity for taking notes, for that long rope straightened out in the
fraction of a second, throwing all prostrate as the flying-machine was jerked
upward with awful force.
All around them raged
and roared the mighty winds, while missiles of almost every description pelted
and pounded both machine and inmates during those few seconds of extraordinary
peril.
Fortunately neither the
professor nor his nephews could fairly realise just what was taking place, else
their brains would hardly have stood the test; and fortunately, too, that
ordeal was not protracted.
A hideous experience
while it lasted, those vicious currents dragging the aerostat upward out of the
air-chamber by means of grapnel and rope, then casting all far away in company
with wrecked trees and bushes, and even solider materials, all shrouded for a
time in dust and débris, which hindered the eyesight of both uncle and nephews.
Through it all the
brothers were dimly aware of one fact uncle Phaeton was shrilly bidding them
cling fast and have courage.
All at once they felt
as though vomited forth from a volcano which alternately breathed fire and ice,
the clear light of evening bursting upon their aching, smarting eyes with
actual pain, while that horrid roar of warring elements seemed to pass away in
the distance, leaving them--where, and how?
"We’re falling
to--merciful heavens! Hold fast, all!" screamed the professor, desperately
striving to regain full command of their air-ship. "The tiller is jammed,
but--"
To all seeming, the
aerostat had sustained some fatal damage during that brief eruption caused by
the professor’s little experiment, for it was pitching drunkenly end for end,
refusing to obey the hand of its builder, bearing all to certain death upon the
earth far below.
Half stupefied with
fear, the brothers clung fast to the life-line and glared downward, noting, in
spite of themselves, how swiftly yonder dark tree-tops and gray crags were
shooting heavenward to meet them and claim the sacrifice.
With fierce energy
Professor Featherwit jerked and wrenched at the steering-gear, uttering words
such as had long been foreign to his lips, but then--just when destruction
appeared inevitable--a wild cry burst from his lungs, as a broken bit of native
wood came away in his left hand, leaving the lever free as of old!
And then, with a
dizzying swoop and rapid recovery, the gallant air-ship came back to an even
keel, sailing along with old-time grace and ease, barely in time to avoid worse
mishap as the crest of a tall tree was brushed in their passage.
"Saved,--saved, my
lads!" screamed the professor, as his heart-pet soared upward once more
until well past the danger-line. "Safe and sound through all,--praises be
unto the Lord, our Father!"
Neither brother spoke
just then, for they lay there in half stupor, barely able to realise the
wondrous truth: that their lives had surely been spared them, even as by a
miracle!
That swooping turn now
brought their faces towards the tornado, which was at least a couple of miles
distant, rapidly making that distance greater even while continuing its work of
destruction.
"And we--were in
it!" huskily muttered Bruno, his lids closing with a shiver, as he averted
his face, unwilling to see more.
"Heap sight worse
than being in the soup, too, if anybody asks you," declared Waldo,
beginning to rally both in strength and in spirit. "But--what’s the matter
with the old ship, uncle Phaeton?"
For the aerostat was
indulging itself in sundry distressing gyrations, pretty much as a boy’s kite
swoops from side to side, when lacking in tail-ballast, while the professor
seemed unable to keep the machine under complete control.
"Nothing serious,
only--hold fast, all! I believe ’twould be as well to make our descent, for
fear something--steady!"
Just ahead there
appeared a more than usually open space in the forest, and, quite as much by
good luck as through actual skill, Professor Featherwit succeeded in making a
landing with no more serious mishap than sundry bruises and a little extra
teeth-jarring.
As quickly as possible,
both Bruno and Waldo pitched themselves out of the partially disabled
aeromotor, the elder brother grasping the grapnel and taking a couple of turns
of the strong rope around a convenient tree-trunk, lest the ship escape them
altogether.
"No need, my
gallant boy!" assured the professor, an instant later. "All is
well,--all is well, thanks to an over-ruling Providence!"
In spite of this
expressed confidence, he hurriedly looked over his pet machine, taking note of
such injuries as had been received during that remarkable journey, only giving
over when fairly satisfied that all damage might be readily made good, after
which the aerostat would be as trustworthy as upon its first voyage on high.
Then, grasping the
brothers each by a hand, he smiled genially, then lifted eyes heavenward, to a
moment later sink upon his knees with bowed head and hands folded across his
bosom.
Bruno and Waldo
imitated his action, and, though no audible words were spoken, never were more
heartfelt prayers sent upward, never more grateful thanks given unto the Most
High.
Boy, youth, and man
alike seemed fairly awed into silence for the next few minutes, unable to so
soon cast off the spell which had fallen upon them, one and each, when
realising how mercifully their lives had been spared, even after all earthly
hope had been abandoned.
As usual, however,
Waldo was first to rally, and, after silently moving around the aerostat, upon
which the professor was already busily at work by the last gleams of the
vanished sun, he paused, legs separated, and hands thrust deep into pockets,
head perking on one side as he spoke, drawlingly:
"I say, uncle
Phaeton?"
"What is it, Waldo?"
"It’ll never do to
breathe even a hint of all this, will it?"
"Why so,
pray?"
"Whoever heard it
would swear we were bald-headed liars right from Storytown! And yet,--did it
really happen, or have I been dreaming all the way through?"
Professor Featherwit
gave a brief, dry chuckle at this, rising erect to cast a deliberate glance
around their present location, then speaking:
"Without I am
greatly mistaken, my dear boy, you will have still other marvellous happenings
to relate ere we return to what is, rightfully or wrongfully, called
civilisation."
"Is that so? Then
you really reckon--"
"For one thing, my
lad, we are now fairly entered upon a terra incognita, so far as our own race
is concerned. In other words,--behold, the Olympics!"
Both Bruno and Waldo
cast their eyes around, but only a circumscribed view was theirs. The shades of
evening were settling fast, and on all sides they could see but mighty trees,
rugged rocks, a mountain stream from whose pebbly bed came a soothing murmur.
"Nothing so mighty
much to brag of, anyway," irreverently quoth Waldo, after that short-lived
scrutiny. "It wouldn’t fetch a dollar an acre at auction, and for my
part,--wonder when the gong will sound for supper?"
That blunt hint was
effective, and, letting the subject drop for the time being, even the professor
joined in the hurry for an evening meal, to which one and all felt able to do
full justice.
Although some rain had
fallen at this point as well, no serious difficulty was experienced in kindling
a fire, while Waldo had little trouble in heaping up a bounteous supply of
fuel.
Through countless ages
the forest monarchs had been shedding their superfluous boughs, while here and
there lay an entire tree, overthrown by some unknown power, and upon which the
brothers made heavy requisition.
Professor Featherwit
took from the locker a supply of tinned goods, together with a patent
coffee-pot and frying-pan, so convenient where space is scarce and stowage-room
precious.
With water from the
little river, it took but a few minutes more to scent the evening with grateful
fumes, after which the adventurous trio squatted there in the ruddy glow,
eating, sipping, chatting, now and again forced to give thanks for their really
miraculous preservation after all human hopes had been exhausted.
Although Professor
Featherwit was but little less thankful for the wondrous leniency shown them,
he could not altogether refrain from mourning the loss of his camera, with its
many snap-shots at the tornado itself, to say nothing of what he might have
secured in addition, while riding the storm so marvellously.
More to take his
thoughts away from that loss than through actual curiosity in the subject
offered by way of substitute, Bruno asked for further light upon the so-called
terra incognita.
"Of course it isn’t
really an unknown land, though, uncle Phaeton?" he added, almost
apologetically. "In this age, and upon our own continent, such a thing is
among the impossibilities."
"Indeed? And,
pray, how long since has it been that you would, with at least equal
positivity, have declared it impossible to enter a tornado while in wildest
career, yet emerge from it with life and limb intact?"
"Yes, uncle,
but--this is different, by far."
"In one sense,
yes; in another, no," affirmed the professor, with emphatic nod, brushing
the tips of his fingers together, as he moved back to assume a more comfortable
position inside the air-ship, then quickly preparing a pipe and tobacco for his
regular after-meal smoke.
A brief silence, then
the professor spoke, clearly, distinctly:
"Washington has
her great unknown land, quite as much as has the interior of Darkest Africa, my
boys, besides enjoying this peculiar advantage: while adventurous white men
have traversed those benighted regions in every direction, even though little
permanent good may have been accomplished, this terra incognita remains virgin
in that particular sense of the word."
"You mean,
uncle?"
"That here in the
Olympic region you see what is literally an unknown, unexplored scope of
country, as foreign to the foot of mankind as it was countless ages gone by. So
far as history reads, neither white man nor red has ever ventured fairly within
these limits; a mountainous waste which rises from the level country, within
ten or fifteen miles of the Straits of San Juan de Fuca, in the north, the
Pacific Ocean in the west, Hood’s Canal in the east, and the barren sand-hills
lying to the far south.
"This irregular
range is known upon the map as the Olympics, and, rising to the height of from
six to eight thousand feet, shut in a vast unexplored area.
"The Indians have
never penetrated it, so far as can be ascertained, for their traditions say
that it is inhabited by a very fierce tribe of warriors, before whose might and
strange weapons not one of the coast tribes can stand."
"One of the Lost
Tribes of Israel, shouldn’t wonder," drawlingly volunteered Waldo,
stifling a yawn, and forced to rub his inflamed eyes with a surreptitious paw.
Professor Featherwit,
though plainly absorbed in his curious theory, was yet quick to detect this
evidence of weariness, and laughed a bit, with change of both tone and manner,
as he spoke further:
"That forms but a
partial introductory to my lecture, dear lads, but perhaps it might be as well
to postpone the rest for a more propitious occasion. You have undergone sore
trials, both of--Hark!"
Some sound came to his
keen ears, which the brothers failed to catch, but as they bent their heads in
listening, another noise came, which proved startling enough, in all
conscience,--a shrill, maniacal screech, which sent cold chills running races
up each spine.
INSTINCTIVELY the
brothers drew nearer each other, as though for mutual protection, each one
letting hand drop to belt where a revolver was habitually carried, but which
was lacking now, thanks to the great haste with which they had taken wing at
the approach of the tornado.
"What is it? What
can it mean?" asked Bruno and Waldo, almost in the same breath, as those
fierce echoes died away in the distance.
Professor Featherwit
made no immediate reply, but by the glow of yonder camp-fire he fumbled inside
the magic locker, fetching forth firearms, then speaking in hushed tones:
"Wait. Listen
for-- I knew it!"
From the opposite
quarter came what might easily have been an echo of that first wild screech,
only louder, longer, more savage, if such a thing be possible.
Prepared though they
now were, neither brother could refrain from shrinking and shuddering, so
hideously that cry sounded in their ears. But their uncle spoke in cool, clear
tones:
"There is nothing
supernatural about that, my lads. A panther or mountain lion, I dare say,
scenting the fumes of our cookery, and coming to claim a share."
"Then it isn’t--
Nothing spookish, uncle Phaeton?" ventured Waldo, in slightly unsteady
tones.
The professor gave
swift assurance upon that point, and, rallying as few youngsters would have
done under like circumstances, the brothers grasped the weapons supplied their
hands, waiting and watching for what was to come.
Once, twice, thrice
those savage calls echoed far and wide, but with each repetition losing a
portion of their terrors; and knowing now that prowling beasts surely were
drawing nigh the camp-fire, the flying machine was abandoned by the trio, all
drawing closer to the fire, which might prove no slight protection against
attack.
Then followed a period
of utter silence, during which their eyes roved restlessly around, striving to
sight the four-footed enemy ere an actual attack could be made.
Professor Featherwit
was first to glimpse a pair of greenish eyes in silent motion, and, giving a
low hiss of warning to his nephews, that same sound serving to check further
progress on the part of the wild beast, his short rifle came to a level, then
emitted a peculiar sound.
Only the keenest of
ears could have noted that, for only the fraction of an instant later followed
a sharp explosion, the darkness beyond being briefly lit up by a yellowish
glare.
"That’s
enough,--beware its mate!" cried the professor, keenly alert for whatever
might ensue; but the words were barely across his lips when, with a vicious
snarl, a furry shape came flying through the air, knocking Featherwit over as
he instinctively ducked his head with arm flying up as additional guard.
Both man and beast came
very near falling into the fire itself, and there ensued a wild, confused
scramble, out of which the brothers singled their enemy, Waldo opening fire
with a revolver, at close range, each shot causing the lion to yell and snarl
most ferociously.
A cat-like recovery,
then the fatal leap might have followed, for the confused professor was rising
to his feet again, fairly in front of the enraged brute; but ere worse came,
Waldo and Bruno were to the rescue, one firing as rapidly as possible, his
brother driving a keen-bladed knife to the very hilt just back of that
quivering forearm.
One mad wrestle, in
which both lads were overthrown, then the gaunt and muscular brute stretched
its length in a shivering throe, dead even while it strove to slay.
Just as the professor
hurried to the front, beseeching his boys to keep out of peril if they loved
him; at which Waldo laughed outright, although never had he felt a warmer love
for the same odd-speaking, queer-acting personage than right at that moment.
"I’m all right;
how’s it with you, sir? And--Bruno?"
"Without a scratch
to remember it by," promptly asserted the elder brother, likewise
regaining his feet and taking hasty account of stock. "No fault of his,
though!" giving that carcass a kick as he spoke. "My gracious! I
caught just one glimpse of them, and I was ready to make affidavit that each
fang would measure a foot, while his claws--"
"Would pass
through an elephant and clinch on the other side," declared Waldo,
stooping far enough to lift one of those armed paws. "But, I say, Bruno,
how awfully they have shrunk, since then!"
Whether so intended or
not, this characteristic break caused a mutual laugh, and, as there was neither
sound nor sign of further danger from like source, one and all satisfied their
curiosity by minutely inspecting the huge brute, stirring up the fire for that
purpose.
"An ugly customer,
indeed, if we had given him anything like a fair show," gravely uttered
the professor. "Only for your prompt assistance, my dear boys, what would
have become of poor me?"
"We acted on our
own account, as well, please remember, uncle. And even so, after all you have
done for us since--"
"What was it you
shot at, uncle Phaeton?" interrupted Waldo, who was constitutionally
averse to aught which savoured of sentiment. "Another one of these--little
squirrels, was it?"
Snatching up a blazing
brand, the lad moved off in that direction, whirling the torch around his head
until it burst into clear flame, then lowering it closer to a bloody heap of
fur and powerful limbs, to give a short ejaculation of wondering awe.
It was a headless body
upon which he gazed, ragged fragments of skin and a few splinters of bone alone
remaining to tell that a solid skull had so recently been thereon.
Professor Phaeton gave
another of his peculiar little chuckles, as he drew near, then patted the
compact little rifle with which he had wrought such extraordinary work: a
weapon of his own invention, as were the dynamite-filled shells to match.
"Although I am
rather puny myself, boys, with this neat little contrivance I could fairly well
hold my own against man or beast," he modestly averred.
"A modern
David," gravely added Bruno, while Waldo chimed in with:
"What a dandy Jack
the Giant-killer you would have been, uncle Phaeton, if you had only lived in
the good old days! I wish--and yet I don’t, either! Of course, it might have
been jolly old sport right then, but now,--where’d I be, to-day?"
"A day on which
has happened a miracle far more marvellous than all that has been set down in
fairyland romance, my dear son," earnestly spoke the professor. "And
when the astounding truth shall have been published, broadcast, throughout all
Christendom, what praises--"
"How thoroughly we
shall be branded liars, and falsificationers from ‘way up the crick’!"
exploded the youngster, making a wry grimace and moving on to view the headless
lion from a different standpoint.
"He means well,
uncle Phaeton," assured Bruno, in lowered tones. "He would not
knowingly hurt your feelings, sir, but--may I speak out?"
"Why not?"
quickly. "Surely I am not one to stand in awe of, lad?"
"One to be loved
and reverenced, rather," with poorly hidden emotion; then rallying, to
add, "But when one finds it impossible to realise all that has happened
this afternoon, when one feels afraid to even make an effort at such belief, how
can the boy be blamed for feeling that all others would pronounce us mad
or--wilful liars?"
Professor Phaeton saw
the point, and made a wry grimace while roughing up his pompadour and brushing
his closely trimmed beard with doubtful hand. After all, was the whole truth to
be ever spoken?
"Well, well, we
can determine more clearly after fully weighing the subject," he said,
turning back towards the flying-machine. "And, after all, what has
happened to us thus far may not seem so utterly incredible after our explorations
are completed."
"Of this region,
do you mean, sir?"
"Of the Olympic
mountains, and all their mountainous chain may encompass,--yes," curtly
spoke the man of hopes, stepping inside the aerostat to perfect his
arrangements for the night.
Waldo took greater
pleasure in viewing the mountain lion towards whose destruction he had so
liberally contributed, but when he spoke of removing the skin, Bruno objected.
"Why take so much
trouble for nothing, Waldo? Even if we could stow the pelts away on board, they
would make a far from agreeable burden. And if what I fancy lies before us is
to come true, the more lightly we are weighted, the more likely we are to come
safely to--well, call it civilisation, just for a change."
"Then you believe
that uncle Phaeton is really in earnest about exploring this region,
Bruno?"
"He most assuredly
is. Did you ever know him to speak idly, or to be otherwise than in earnest,
Waldo?"
"Well, of course
uncle is all right, but--sometimes--"
A friendly palm slipped
over those lips, cutting short the speech which might perchance have left a
sting behind. And yet the worthy professor had no more enthusiastic acolyte
than this same reckless speaking youngster, when the truth was all told.
Leaving the animals
where they had fallen, for the time being, the brothers passed over to where
rested the aeromotor, finding the professor busily engaged in rigging up a
series of fine wires, completely surrounding the flying-machine, save for one
narrow, gate-like arrangement.
"Beginning to feel
as though you could turn in for all night, eh, my boys?" came his cheery
greeting.
"Well, somehow I
do feel as though ‘the sandman’ had been making his rounds rather earlier than
customary," dryly said Waldo, winking rapidly. "I believe there must
have been a bit more wind astir to-day than common, although neither of you may
have noticed the fact."
Professor Featherwit
chuckled softly while at work, but neither he nor Bruno made reply in words.
And then, his arrangements perfected save for closing the circuit, which could
only be done after all hands had entered the air-ship, he spoke to the point:
"Come, boys. You’ve
had a rough bit of experience this day, and there may be still further trouble
in store, here in this unknown land. Better make sure of a full night’s rest,
and thus have a reserve fund to draw upon in case of need."
There was plenty of
sound common sense in this adjuration, and, only taking time to procure a can
of fresh water from yonder stream, the two youngsters stepped within that
charmed circle, permitting their uncle to close the circuit, and then test the
queer contrivance to make sure all was working nicely.
A confused sound broke
forth, resembling the faraway tooting of tin horns, which blended
inharmoniously with the ringing of nearer bells, all producing a noise which
was warranted to arouse the heaviest sleeper from his soundest slumber.
"That will give
fair warning in case any intruder drifts this way," declared the
professor, chucklingly, then sinking down and wrapping himself up in a
close-woven blanket, similar to those employed by the boys.
"Even a ghost, or
a goblin, do you reckon, uncle Phaeton?"
"Should such
attempt to intrude, yes. Go to sleep, you young rascal!"
But that proved to be
far more readily spoken than lived up to. Not but that the brothers were weary,
jaded, and sore of muscle enough to make even the thought of slumber agreeable;
but their recent experience had been so thrilling, so nerve-straining, so far
apart from the ordinary routine of life, that hours passed ere either lad could
fairly lose himself in sleep.
Still, when unconsciousness
did steal over their weary brains, it proved to be all the more complete, and
after that neither Bruno nor Waldo stirred hand or foot until, well after the
dawn of a new day, Professor Featherwit shook first one and then the other,
crying shrilly:
"Turn out,
youngsters! A new day, and plenty of work to be done!"
A STRETCH and a yawn,
which in Waldo’s case ended in a prolonged howl, which would not have disgraced
either of their four-footed visitors of the past evening, then the brothers
Gillespie sprung forth from the flying-machine, entering upon a race for the
brawling mountain stream, "shedding" their garments as they ran.
"First man
in!" cried Bruno, whose clothes seemed to slip off the more readily; but
Waldo was not to be outdone so easily, and, reckless of the consequences, he
plunged into the eddying pool, with fully half of his daylight rig still in
place.
The water proved to be
considerably deeper than either brother had anticipated, and Waldo vanished
from sight for a few seconds, then reappearing with lusty puff and splutter,
shaking the pearly drops from his close-clipped curls, while ranting:
"Another vile
fabrication nailed to the standard of truth, and clinched by the hammer
of--ouch!"
A wild flounder, then
the youngster fairly doubled himself up, acting so strangely that Bruno gave a
little cry of alarm; but ere the elder brother could take further action, Waldo
swung his right arm upward and outward, sending a goodly sized trout flashing
through the air to the shore, crying in boyish enthusiasm:
"Glory in great
chunks! I want to camp right here for a year to come! Will ye look at that
now?"
Bruno had to dodge that
writhing missile, and, before he could fairly recover himself, Waldo had
floundered ashore, leaving a yeasty turmoil in his wake, but then throwing up a
dripping hand, and speaking in an exaggerated whisper:
"Whist, boy! On
your life, not so much as the ghost of a whimper! The hole’s ramjammed chuck
full of trout, and we’ll have a meal fit for the gods if--where’s my fishing
tackle?"
Bruno picked up the
trout, so queerly brought to light, really surprised, but feigning still
further, as he made his examination.
"It really is a
trout, and--how long have you carried this about in your clothes, Waldo
Gillespie?"
"Not long enough
for you to build a decent joke over it, brother mine. Just happened so. Tried
to ram its nose in one of my pockets, and of course I had to take him in out of
the wet. Pool’s just full of them, too, and I wouldn’t wonder if--oh, quit your
talking, and do something, can’t you, boy?"
Vigorously though he
spoke, Waldo wound up with a shiver and sharp chatter of teeth as the fresh
morning air struck through his dripping garments. He gave a coltish prance, as
he turned to seek his fishing tackle; but, unfortunately for his hopes of
speedy sport, the professor was nigh enough to both see and hear, and at once
took charge of the reckless youngster.
"Wet to the hide,
and upon an empty stomach, too! You foolish child! Come, strip to the buff, and
put on some of these garments until--here by the fire, Waldo."
And thus taken in tow,
the lad was forced to slowly but thoroughly toast his person beside the freshly
started fire, ruefully watching his brother deftly handle rod and line, in a
remarkably short space of time killing trout enough to furnish all with a
bounteous meal.
"And I was the
discoverer, while you reap all the credit, have all the fun!" dolefully
lamented Waldo, when the catch was displayed with an ostentation which may have
covered just a tiny bit of malice. "I’ll put a tin ear on you, Amerigo
Vespucius!"
"All right; we’ll
have a merry go together, after you’ve cleaned the trout for cooking,
lad," laughed his elder.
Waldo gazed
reproachfully into that bright face for a brief space, then bowed head in
joined hands, to sob in heartfelt fashion, his sturdy frame shaking with poorly
suppressed grief--or mirth?
Bruno passed an arm
caressingly over those shoulders, murmuring words of comfort, earnestly
promising to never sin again in like manner, provided he could find forgiveness
now. And then, with deft touch, that same hand held his garment far enough for
its mate to let slip a wriggling trout adown his brother’s back.
Waldo howled and jumped
wildly, as the cold morsel slipped along his spine, and ducking out of reach,
the elder jester called back:
"Land him, boy,
and you’ve caught another fish!"
Although laughing
heartily himself, Professor Featherwit deemed it a part of wisdom to interfere
now, and, ere long, matters quieted down, all hands engaged in preparing the
morning meal, for which all teeth were now fairly on edge.
If good nature had been
at all disturbed, long before that breakfast was despatched it was fully
restored, and of the trio, Waldo appeared to be the most enthusiastic over
present prospects.
"Why, just think
of it, will you?" he declaimed, as well as might be with mouth full of
crisply fried mountain trout. "where the game comes begging for you to
bowl it over, and the very fish try to jump into your pockets--"
"Or down your
back, Amerigo," interjected Bruno, with a grin.
"Button up, or you’ll
turn to be a Sorry-cus--tomer, old man," came the swift retort, with a
portentous frown. "But, joking aside, why not? With such hunting and
fishing, I’d be willing to sign a contract for a round year in this
region."
"To say nothing of
exploration, and such discoveries as naturally attend upon--"
"Then you really
mean it all, uncle Phaeton?"
Leaning back far enough
to pluck a handful of green leaves, which fairly well served the purpose of a
napkin, Professor Featherwit brought forth pipe and pouch, maintaining silence
until the fragrant tobacco was well alight. Then he gave a vigorous nod of his
head, to utter:
"It has been the
dearest dream of my life for more years gone by than you would readily credit,
my lads; or, in fact, than I would be wholly willing to confess. And it was
with an eye single to this very adventure that I laboured to devise and perfect
yonder machine."
"A marvel in
itself, uncle Phaeton. Only for that, where would we have been,
yesterday?" seriously spoke the elder Gillespie.
"I know where we
wouldn’t have been: inside that blessed cy-nado!"
"Nor here, where
you can catch brook trout in your clothes without the trouble of taking them
off, youngster."
"And where you’ll
catch a precious hiding, without you let up harping on that old string; it’s
way out of tune already, old man,"
"Tit for tat.
Excuse us, please, uncle Phaeton. We’re like colts in fresh pasture, this
morning," brightly apologised Bruno, for both.
Apparently the
professor paid no attention to that bit of sparring between his nephews,
staring into the glowing camp-fire with eyes which surely saw more than yellow
coals or ruddy flames could picture; eyes which burned and sparkled with all
the fires of distant youth.
"The dearest dream
of all my life!" he repeated, in half dreamy tones, only to rouse himself,
with a a start and shoulder shake, an instant later, forcing a bright smile as
he glanced from face to face. "And why not? How better could my last years
be employed than in piercing the clouds of mystery, and doubt, and
superstition, with which this vast tract has been enveloped for uncounted
ages?"
"Is it really so
unknown, then, uncle Phaeton?" hesitatingly asked Bruno, touched, in spite
of himself, by that intensely earnest tone and expression. "Of course, I
know what the Indians say; they are full of a rude sort of superstitious awe,
which--"
"Which is one of
the surest proofs that truth forms a foundation for that very
superstition," quickly interjected the professor. "It is an
undisputed fact that there are hundreds upon hundreds of square miles of terra
incognita, lying in this corner of Washington Territory. No white man ever
fairly penetrated these wilds, even so far as we may have been carried while
riding the tornado. Or, if so, he assuredly has never returned, or made known
his discoveries."
"Provided there
was anything beyond the ordinary to see or experience, shouldn’t we add,
uncle?" suggested Waldo, modestly.
"There is,--there
must be! No matter how wildly improbable their traditions may seem in our
judgment, it only takes calm investigation to bring a fair foundation to light.
In regard to this vast scope of country, go where you will among the natives,
question whom you see fit, as to its secrets, and you will meet with the same
results: a deep-seated awe, a belief which cannot be shaken, that here strange
monsters breed and flourish, matched in magnitude and power by an armed race of
human beings, before whose awful might other tribes are but as ants in the
pathway of an elephant."
Waldo let escape a low,
prolonged whistle of mingled wonder and incredulity, but Bruno gave him a
covert kick, himself too deeply interested to bear with a careless interruption
just then.
"Of course there
may be something of exaggeration in all this," admitted the enthusiastic
professor. "Undoubtedly, there is at least a fair spice of that; but, even
so, enough remains to both waken and hold our keenest interest. Listen, and
take heed, my good lads.
"You have often
enough, of late days, noticed these mountains, and if you remark their
altitude, the vast scope of country they dominate, the position they fill, you
must likewise realise one other fact: that an immense quantity of snow in
winter, rain in spring and autumn, surely must fall throughout the Olympics.
Understand?"
"Certainly; why
not, uncle Phaeton?"
"Then tell me
this: where does all the moisture go to? What becomes of the surplus waters?
For it is an acknowledged fact that, though rivers and brooks surely exist in
the Olympics, not one of either flows away from this wide tract of
country!"
The professor paused
for a minute, to let his words take full effect, then even more positively
proceeded:
"You may say, what
I have had others offer by way of solution, that all is drained into a mighty
inland sea or enormous lake. Granting so much, which I really believe to be the
truth as far as it goes, why does that lake never overflow? Of all that surely
must drain into its basin, be that enormously wide and deep as it may, how much
could ordinary evaporation dispose of? Only an infinitesimal portion; scarcely
worth mentioning in such connection. Then,--what becomes of the
surplusage?"
Another pause, during
which neither Gillespie ventured a solution; then the professor offered his own
suggestion:
"It must flow off
in some manner, and what other manner can that be than--through a subterranean
connection with the Pacific Ocean?"
Bruno gave a short
ejaculation at this, while Waldo broke forth in words, after his own particular
fashion:
"Jules Verne
redivivus! Why can’t we take a trip through the centre of the earth,
or--or--any other little old thing like that?"
"With the tank of
compressed air as a life-preserver?" laughed Bruno, in turn. "That
might serve, but; unfortunately, we have only the one, and we are three in
number, boy."
"Only two, now; I’m
squelched!" sighed the jester, faintly.
If the professor heard,
he heeded not. Still staring with vacant gaze into the fire, his face bearing a
rapt expression curious to see, he broke into almost unconscious speech:
"An enormous
inland sea! Where float the mighty ichthyosaurus, the megalosaurus, in company
with the gigantic plesiosaurus! Upon whose sloping shores disport the enormous
mastodon, the stately megatherium, the tremendous--eh?"
For Waldo was now
afoot, brandishing a great branch broken from a dead tree, uttering valiant
war-whoops, and dealing tremendous blows upon an imaginary enemy, spouting at
the top of his voice a frenzied jargon, which neither his auditors nor himself
could possibly make sense out of.
Bruno, ever sensitive
through his affectionate reverence for their uncle, caught the youngster, and
cast him to earth, whereupon Waldo pantingly cried:
"Go on, please,
uncle Phaeton. It’s next thing to a museum and menagerie combined, just to
hear--"
"Will you hush,
boy?" demanded Bruno, yet unable to wholly smother a laugh, so ridiculous
did it all sound and seem.
But Professor
Featherwit declined, his foxy face wrinkling in a bashful laugh. Whether so
intended or not, he had been brought down to earth from that dizzy flight, and
now was fairly himself again.
"Well, my dear
boys, I dare say it seems all a matter of jest and sport to you; yet, after our
riding in the centre of a tornado for uncounted miles, coming forth with hardly
a scratch or a bruise to show for it all, who dare say such things may not be,
even yet?"
"But,--those
strange creatures are gone; the last one perished thousands upon thousands of
years ago, uncle Phaeton."
"So it is said,
and so follows the almost universal belief. Yet I have seen, felt, cooked,
tasted, and ate to its last morsel a steak from a mammoth. True, the creature
was dead; had been preserved for ages, no doubt, within the glacier which
finally cast it forth to human view; yet who would have credited such a
discovery, only fifty years ago? He who dared to even hint at such a thing
would have been derided and laughed at, pronounced either fool or lunatic. And
so,--if we should happen to discover one or all of those supposedly extinct creatures
here in this terra incognita, I would be overjoyed rather than astounded."
Bruno looked grave at
this conclusion, but Waldo was not so readily impressed, and, with shrugging
shoulders, he made answer:
"Well, uncle, I’m
not quite so ambitious as all that comes to. May I give you my idea of it
all?"
PROFESSOR FEATHERWIT
nodded assent, and, after a brief chuckle, Waldo resumed:
"You can take all
those big fellows with the jaw-breaking names, but as for me, smaller game will
do. Maybe a fellow couldn’t fill his bag quite so full, nor quite so suddenly,
but there would be a great deal more sport, and a mighty sight less danger, I
take it!"
It was by no means
difficult to divine that the professor had not yet spoken all that busied his
brain, but the thread was broken, his pipe was out, and, emptying the ashes by
tapping pipe-bowl against the heel of his shoe, he rose erect, once more the
man of action.
"You will have to
clear up, lads, for I must make such few repairs as are necessary to restore
the aerostat to a state of efficiency. So long as that remains in serviceable
condition, we will always have a method of advance or retreat. Without
it--well, I’d rather not think of the alternative."
That dry tone and quiet
sentence did more than all else to impress the brothers with a sense of their
unique position. Back came the remembrance of all they had gathered concerning
this strange scope of country since first settling down fairly within the
shadows of the Olympics, there to put that strange machine together, preparing
for what was to prove a wonder-tour through many marvellous happenings.
Times beyond counting
they had been assured by the natives that no mortal could fairly penetrate that
vast wilderness. Natural obstacles were too great for any man to surmount,
without saying aught of what lay beyond; of the enormous animals, such as the
civilised world never knew or fought with; of the terrible natives, taller than
the pines, larger than the hills, more powerful by far than the gods
themselves, eager to slay and to devour,--so eager that, at times, living flesh
and blood was more grateful than all to their depraved tastes!
"Do you really
reckon there is anything in it all, Bruno?" asked the younger brother in
lowered tones, glancing across to where their uncle was busily engaged in those
comparatively trifling repairs.
"It hardly seems
possible, and yet--would the members of four different tribes tell a story so
nearly alike, without they had at least a foundation of truth to go upon?"
"That’s right. And
yet--the inland sea sounds natural enough. We know, too, that there are such
things as underground rivers, outside of Jules Verne’s yarns. But those
animals,--or reptiles,--which?"
"Both, I
believe," answered Bruno, with a subdued laugh.
"That’s all right,
old man. I never was worth a continental when it came to such things. I prefer
to live in the present, and so--well, now, will you just look at that old
cow!"
In surprise Waldo
pointed across to where a bovine shape showed not far beyond the pool at the
base of the miniature waterfall; but his brother had a fairer view, and,
instantly divining the truth, grasped an arm and hastily whispered:
"Hush, boy; can’t
you see? It’s a buffalo, a hill buffalo, and--"
"Quick! the guns
are in the machine! Down, Bruno, and maybe we can get a shot and--"
His eager whisper was
cut short, though not by grip of arm or act by his brother. A rumbling roar
broke forth from the further side of that mountain stream, and as the dense
bushes beyond were violently agitated, the hill buffalo wheeled that way with
marvellous rapidity.
Just as a long head and
mighty shoulders spread the shrubbery wide apart, jaws opening and lips curling
back to lay great teeth bare, while another angry sound, half growl, half
snort, only too clearly proclaimed that monster of the mountains, a grizzly
bear.
"Smoke o’
sacrifice!" gasped Waldo, as the grizzly suddenly upreared its mighty
bulk, head wagging, paws waving in queer fashion, lolling tongue lending the
semblance of drollery rather than viciousness.
"This way; to your
guns, boys!" cautiously called out the professor, whose notice had
likewise been caught by those unusual sounds, and who had already armed himself
with his pet dynamite gun.
"Careful! He’ll
make a break for us at first sight, unless--down close, and crawl for it,
brother!"
Bruno set the good
example, and Waldo was not too proud of spirit to humble himself in like
manner. Although this was their first glimpse of "Old Eph" in his
native wilds, both brothers entertained a very respectful opinion of his
prowess.
Under different
circumstances their expectations might have been more fully met, but just now
the grizzly seemed wholly occupied with the buffalo bull, whose sturdy bulk and
armed front so resolutely opposed his further progress towards that common
goal, the pool of water.
The boys quickly
reached the flying-machine and gripped the Winchester rifles which Professor
Featherwit had drawn forth from the locker at first sight of the dangerous
game. Thus armed, they felt ready for whatever might come, and stood watching
yonder rivals with growing interest.
"Will you look at
that, now?" excitedly breathed Waldo, eyes aglow, as he saw the bull cock
its tail on high and tear up the soft soil with one fierce sweep of its cloven
hoof, shaking head and giving vent to a low but determined bellow.
"It means a fight
unto the death, I think," whispered the professor.
"It’s dollars to
doughnuts on the bear," predicted Waldo. "Scat, you bull-headed
idiot! Don’t you know that you’re not deuce high to his ace? Can’t you see that
he can chew you up like--"
"Are you mighty
sure of all that, boy?" laughingly cut in Bruno; for at that moment the
buffalo made a sudden charge at his upright adversary, knocking the grizzly
backward in spite of its viciously flying paws.
"Great Peter on a
bender! If I ever--no, I never!"
Even the professor was
growing excited, holding the dynamite gun under one arm while gently tapping
palms together as an encore.
Naturally enough, their
sympathies were with the buffalo, since the odds seemed so immensely against
him; but their delight was short-lived, for, instead of following up the
advantage so bravely won, the bull fell back to paw and bellow and shake his
shaggy front.
With marvellous
activity for a brute of his enormous bulk and weight, the grizzly recovered its
feet, then lumbered forward with clashing teeth and resounding growls.
Nothing loath, the
buffalo met that charge, and for a short space of time the struggle was veiled
by showers of leaf-mould and damp dirt cast upon the air as the rivals fought
for supremacy--and for life.
For that this was
destined to be a duel to the very death not one of those spectators could
really doubt. That encounter may have been purely accidental, but the creatures
fought like enemies of long standing.
As their relative
positions changed, the buffalo contrived to get in another vigorous butt,
sending bruin end for end down that gentle slope to souse into the pool of
water, that cool element cutting short a savage roar of mad fury.
Then the trio of
spectators could take notes, and with something of sorrow they saw that the
buffalo had already suffered severely, bleeding from numerous great gashes torn
by the grizzly’s long talons, while one bloody eye dangled below its socket,
held only by a thread of sinew.
Nor had bruin escaped
without hurt, as all could see when he floundered out of the water, bent upon
renewing the duel; but there was little room left for doubting what the
ultimate result would be were the animals left to their own devices.
Like all bold,
free-hearted lads, Waldo ever sympathised with the weaker, and now, unable to
hold his feelings in check, he gave a short cry, levelling his Winchester and
opening fire upon the grizzly, just as it won fairly clear of the water.
Stung to fury by those
pellets, the brute reared up with a horrid roar, turning as though to charge
this new enemy; but ere he could do more, the professor’s gun spoke, and as the
dynamite shell exploded, bruin fell back a writhing mass, his head literally
smashed to pieces.
Heedless of all else,
the wounded buffalo charged with lusty bellow, goring that quivering mass with
unabated fury, though its life was clearly leaking out through those ghastly
cuts and slashes.
A brief pause, then
Professor Featherwit swiftly reloaded his gun, sending another shell across the
stream, this time more as a boon than as punishment.
Smitten fairly in the
forehead, the bull dropped as though beneath a bolt of lightning, life going
out without so much as a single struggle or a single pang.
"Twas better
thus," declared the professor, as Waldo gave a little ejaculation of
dismay. "He must have bled to death in a short time, and this was true
mercy. Besides, buffalo meat is very good eating, and the day may come when we
shall need all we can get. Who knows?"
After the animals were
inspected, and due comment made upon the awfully sure work wrought by the
dynamite gun, the professor suggested that, while he was completing repairs
upon the aeromotor, the brothers should secure a supply of fish and of flesh,
cooking sufficient to provide for several meals, for there was no telling just
when they would have an equal chance.
"Just as soon as
we can put all in readiness," he continued, "I am going to leave this
spot. My first wish is to thoroughly test the aerostat, to make certain it has
received no serious injury. Then, if all promises well, I mean to begin our
tour of exploration, hoping that we may, at least, find something well worthy
the strange reputation given these Olympics by the natives."
Without raising any
objections, the brothers fell to work, Bruno looking after the flesh, while
Waldo undertook to supply the fish. That was but fair, since he had been
cheated out of catching the first mess.
Not a little to his
delight, the professor found that the flying-machine would promptly answer his
touch and will, rising easily off the ground, then descending at call,
evidently having passed through the ordeal of the bygone evening without
serious harm.
Still, all this
consumed time, and it was after a late dinner that everything was pronounced in
readiness for an ascension: the meat and fish nicely cooked and packed for
carriage, a pot of strong coffee made and stowed beyond risk of leakage, the
flying-machine itself quivering in that gentle breeze as though eager to find
itself once more afloat far above the earth and its obstructions to easy
navigation.
Waldo expressed some
grief at leaving a spot where game came in such plentitude to find the hunter,
and trout simply longed to be caught; but upon being assured of other
opportunities, perhaps even more delightful, he sighed and gave consent to
mount into space.
"Only--don’t ask
me to tackle any of those big dictionary fellows such as you talked about this
morning, uncle Phaeton, for I simply can’t; they’d get away with my baggage
while I was trying to spell their names and title--and all that!"
Without any difficulty
the aeromotor was sent out of and above the forest, heading towards the
northwest; that is, direct for the heart of the Olympics, of whose marvels
Professor Featherwit held such exalted hopes and expectations.
Grim and forbidding
those mountains looked as the air-ship sailed swiftly over them, opening up a
wider view when the bare, rugged crest was once left fairly to the rear. Save
for those bald crowns, all below appeared a solid carpet of tree-tops, now
lower, there higher, yet ever the same: seemingly impenetrable to man, should
such an effort be made.
Once fairly within the
charmed circle, leaving the rocky ridge behind, Professor Featherwit slackened
speed, permitting the ship to drift onward at a moderate pace, one hand
touching the steering-gear, while its fellow held a pair of field-glasses to
his eager eyes.
All at once he gave a
half-stifled cry, partly rising in his excitement, then crying aloud in
thrilling tones:
"The sea,--an
inland sea!"
AT nearly the same
moment both Bruno and Waldo caught a glimpse of water, shining clear and
distinct amidst that sombre setting; but as yet a tree-crested elevation
interfered with the prospect, and it was not until after the course of the
air-ship had been materially changed, and some little time had elapsed, that
aught definite could be determined as to the actual spread of that body of
water.
This proved to be
considerable, although it needed but a single look into the professor’s face to
learn that his eager hopes and exalted anticipations fell far short of
realisation.
"Well, it’s a sea
all right," generously declared Waldo, giving a vigorous sniff by way of
strengthening his words. "I can smell the salt clear from this. A sea,
even if it isn’t quite so large as others,--what one might term a lower-case
c!"
If nothing else, that
generous effort brought its reward in the dry little chuckle which escaped the
professor’s lips, and a kindly glow showed through his glasses as he turned
towards Waldo with a nod of acknowledgment.
"Barring the salty
scent, my dear boy, which probably finds birth in your kindly imagination. So,
on the whole, perhaps ’twould be just as well to term it a lake."
"One of no mean
dimensions, at any rate, uncle Phaeton."
"True,
Bruno," with a nod of agreement, yet with forehead contracting into a
network of troubled lines. "Naturally so, and yet--surely this must be
merely a portion? Unless--yet I fail to see aught which might be interpreted as
being--"
Promptly responding to
each touch of hand upon steering-gear, the aeromotor swung smoothly around,
sailing on even keel right into the teeth of the gentle wind, by this time near
enough to that body of water for the air-voyagers to scan its surface: a
considerable expanse, all told, yet by no means of such magnitude as Professor
Featherwit had anticipated.
Too deeply absorbed in
his own thoughts to notice the little cries and ejaculations which came from
the brothers, he caused the aerostat to rise higher, slowly sweeping that
extended field with his glasses.
He could see where
several streams entered the body of water, coming from opposite points of the
compass, and thus confirming at least one portion of his explained theory; but,
so far as his visual powers went, there was no other considerable body of water
to be discovered.
"Yet, how can that
contracted basin contain all the drainage from this vast scope of country? How
can we explain the stubborn fact of-- What now, lads?"
An abrupt break, but
one caused by the eager cry and loud speech from the lips of the younger
Gillespie.
"Looky yonder! Isn’t
that one o’ those sour-us dictionary fellows on a bender? Isn’t that--but I don’t--no,
it’s only--"
"Only a partly
decayed tree gone afloat!" volunteered Bruno, with a merry laugh, as his
eager brother drew back in evident chagrin.
"Well, that’s all
right. It ought to’ve been one, even if it isn’t. What’s the use in coming all
this way, if we’re not going to discover something beyond the common? And my
sour-us is worth more than one of the other kind, after all; get it ashore and
you might cook dinner for a solid month by it; now there!"
It was easily to be
seen that Waldo had been giving free rein to his expectations ever since the
professor’s little lecture, but his natural chagrin was quickly forgotten in a
matter of far greater interest.
Professor Featherwit
had resumed his scrutiny of yonder body of water, slowly turning his glasses
while holding the air-ship on a true course and even keel.
For a brief space
nothing interfered with the steady motion of the field-glasses, but then
something called for a more thorough examination, and little by little the
savant leaned farther forward, breath coming more rapidly, face beginning to
flush with deepening interest.
Bruno took note of all
this, and, failing to see aught to account for the symptoms with unaided eyes,
at length ventured to speak.
"What is it, uncle
Phaeton? Something of interest, or your looks--"
Professor Featherwit
gave a start, then lowered the glasses and reached them towards his nephew,
speaking hurriedly:
"You try them,
Bruno; your eyes are younger, and ought to be keener than mine. Yonder; towards
the lower end of the--the lake, please."
Nothing loath,
Gillespie complied, quickly finding the correct point upon which the professor’s
interest had centred, holding the glasses motionless for a brief space, then
giving vent to an eager ejaculation.
"What is it all
about, bless you, boy?" demanded Waldo, unable longer to curb his hot
impatience. "Another drifting tree, eh?"
"No, but,--did you
see it, uncle?"
"I saw something
which--what do you see, first?"
"A great big
suck,--a monster whirlpool which is hollowed like--"
"I knew it! I felt
that must be the true solution of it all!" cried uncle Phaeton, squirming
about pretty much as one might into whose veins had been injected quicksilver
in place of ordinary blood. "The outlet! Where the surplus waters drain
off to the Pacific Ocean!"
"I say, give me a
chance, can’t you?" interrupted Waldo, grasping the glasses and shifting
his station for one more favourable as a lookout.
He had seen sufficient
to catch the right angle, and then gave a suppressed snort as he took in the
view. Half a minute thus, then a wild cry escaped his lips, closely followed by
the words:
"Now I dosee
something! And it isn’t a drifting tree, either! Or, that is, something else
which--shove her closer, uncle Phaeton! True as you live, there’s something
caught in yonder big suck which is--closer, for love of glory!"
"If this is
another joke, Waldo--"
"No, no, I tell
you, Bruno! Shove her over, uncle, for, without this glass is hoodooed, we’re
needed right yonder,--and needed mighty bad, too!"
Little need of so much
urging, by the way, since Professor Featherwit was but slightly less excited by
their double discovery, and even before the glasses were clapped to Waldo’s
eyes the aerostat swung around to move at full speed towards that precise
quarter of the compass.
"What is it you
see, then, boy?" demanded Bruno, itching to take the glasses, yet
straining his own vision towards that as yet far-distant spot.
"Something
like--oh, see how the water is running out,--just like emptying a bathtub
through a hole at the bottom! And see what--a man caught in the whirl, true’s
you’re a foot high, uncle!"
"A man? Here?
Impossible,--incredible, boy!" fairly exploded the professor, not yet
ready to relinquish his cherished belief in a terra incognita.
The air-voyagers were
swiftly nearing that point of interest, and now keen-eyed Bruno caught a
glimpse of a drifting object which had been drawn within the influence of
yonder whirlpool, but which was just as certainly a derelict from the forest.
"Another floating
tree-trunk for Waldo!" he cried, with a short laugh, feeling far from
unpleased that the intense strain upon his nerves should be thus lessened.
"Try it again, lad, and perhaps--"
"Try your
great-grandmother’s cotton nightcap! Don’t you suppose I can tell the
difference between a tree and a--"
"Ranting,
prancing, cavorting ‘sour-us’ right out of Webster’s Unabridged, eh,
laddy-buck?"
"That’s all right,
if you can only keep on thinking that way, old man; but if yonder isn’t a
fellow being in a mighty nasty pickle, then I wouldn’t even begin to say so!
And--you look, uncle Phaeton, please."
Nothing loath, the
professor took the proffered glasses, and but an instant later he, too, gave a
sharp cry of amazement, for he saw, clinging to the trunk of a floating tree,
swiftly moving with those circling waters, a living being!
And but a few seconds
later, Bruno made the same discovery, greatly to the delight of his younger
brother.
"A man! And
living, too!"
"Of course; reckon
I’d make such a howl about a floater?" bluntly interjected Waldo.
"But I’ll do my crowing later on. For now we’ve got to get the poor fellow
out of that,--just got to yank him out!"
Through all this hasty
interchange of words, the aeromotor was swiftly progressing, and now swung
almost directly above the whirlpool, giving all a fair, unobstructed view of
everything below.
The suction was so
great that a sloping basin was formed, more than one hundred yards in diameter,
while the actual centre lay a number of feet lower than the surrounding level.
Half-way down that
perilous slope a great tree was revolving, and to this, as his forlorn hope,
clung a half-clad man, plainly alive, since he was looking upward, and--yes,
waving a hand and uttering a cry for aid and succour.
"Help! For love of
God, save me!"
"White,--an
American, too!" exploded Waldo, taking action as by brilliant inspiration.
"Hang over him, uncle, for I’m going--to go fishing--for a man!"
Waldo was tugging at
the grapnel and long drag-rope. Bruno was quick to divine his intention, and
lent a deft hand, while the professor manipulated the helm so adroitly as to keep
the flying-machine hovering directly above yonder imperilled stranger, leaning
far over the hand-rail to shout downward:
"Have courage,
sir, and stand ready to help yourself! We will rescue you if it lies within the
possibilities of--we will save you!"
"You bet we just
will, and right--like this," spluttered Waldo, as he cast the grapnel over
the rail and swiftly lowered it by the rope. "Play you’re a fish,
stranger, and when you bite, hang on like grim death to a--steady, now!"
Fortunately nothing
occurred to mar the programme so hastily arranged, for the drift was drawing
nearer the centre of the whirl, and if once fairly caught by that, nothing
human could preserve the stranger from death.
"Make a jump and
grab it, if you can’t do better!" cried Waldo, intensely excited now that
the crisis was at hand.
The long rope with its
iron weight swayed awkwardly in spite of all he could do to steady it, and as
each one of the three prongs was meant for catching and holding fast to
whatever they touched, there was no slight risk of impaling the man, thus
giving him the choice of another and still more painful death.
Then, with a desperate
grasp, a death-clutch, he caught one arm of the grapnel, holding fast as the
shock came. He was carried clear of the tree, and partly submerged in the water
as his added weight brought the flying-machine so much lower.
"Up, up, uncle
Phaeton!" fairly howled Waldo, at the same time tugging at the now taut
rope, in which he was ably seconded by his brother. "For love of--higher,
uncle!"
Then the noble machine
responded to the touch of its builder, lifting the dripping stranger clear of
the whirling currents, swinging him away towards yonder higher level, where a
fall would not prove so quickly fatal. And then the eager professor gave a
shrill cheer as he saw the man, by a vigorous effort, draw his body upward
sufficiently far to throw one leg over an arm of the grapnel itself.
Knowing now that the
rescued was in no especial peril, uncle Phaeton left the air-ship to steer
itself long enough for his nimble hands to take several turns of the drag-rope
around the cleat provided for that express purpose, thus relieving both Bruno
and Waldo of the heavy strain, which might soon begin to tell upon them.
"Hurrah for we,
us, and company!" cried Waldo, relieving his lungs of a portion of their
pent-up energy, then leaning perilously far over the edge of the machine to
encourage the queer fish he had hooked.
DESPITE their very
natural excitement, caused by this peril and its foiling, Professor Featherwit
retained nearly all his customary coolness and presence of mind.
Readily realising that
after such a grim ordeal would almost certainly come a powerful revulsion, his
first aim was to swing the stranger far enough away from the whirlpool to give
him a fair chance for life, in case he should fall, through dizziness or
physical collapse, from the end of the drag-rope.
This took but a few
seconds, comparatively speaking, though, doubtless, each moment seemed an age
to the rescued stranger. Then the professor slowed his ship, looking around in
order to determine upon the wisest route to take.
For one thing, it would
be severe work to draw the stranger bodily up and into the aerostat. For
another, unless he should grow weak, or suffer from vertigo, both time and
labour would be saved by taking him direct to the shore of this broad lake.
As soon as the rope was
made fast, and the strain taken off their muscles as well as their minds, Bruno
flashed a look around, naturally turning his eyes in the direction of the
whirlpool.
Although less than a
couple of minutes had elapsed since the man was lifted off the circling drift,
even thus quickly had the end drawn nigh; for, even as he looked that way,
Gillespie saw the great trunk sucked into the hidden sink, the top rising with
a shiver clear out of the water as the butt lowered, a hollow, rumbling sound
coming to all ears as--
"Gone!" cried
Bruno, in awed tones, as the whole drift vanished from sight for ever.
"Sucked in by
Jonah’s whale, for ducats!" screamed Waldo, excitedly. "Fetch on your
blessed ‘sour-us’ of both the male and female sect! Trot ’em to the fore, and
if my little old suck don’t take the starch out of their backbones,--they did
have backbones, didn’t they, uncle Phaeton?"
Professor Featherwit
frowned, and shook his head in silent reproof. More nearly, perhaps, than
either of the boys, he realised what an awful peril this stranger had so
narrowly escaped. It was far too early to turn that escape into jest, even for
one naturally light of heart.
He leaned over the
hand-rail, peering downward. He could see the rescued man sitting firmly in the
bend of the grapnel, one hand tightly gripping the rope, its mate shading his
eyes, as he stared fixedly towards the whirling death-pool, from whose jaws he
had so miraculously been plucked.
There was naught of
debility, either of body or of mind, to be read in that figure, and with his
fears on that particular point set at rest, for the time being, Professor
Featherwit called out, distinctly:
"Is it all well
with you, my good friend? Can you hold fast until the shore is reached,
think?"
"Heaven bless
you,--yes!" came the reply, in half-choked tones. "If I fail in
giving thanks--"
"Never mention it,
friend; it cost us nothing," cheerily interrupted the professor, then
adding, "Hold fast, please, and we’ll put on a wee bit more steam."
The flying-machine was
now fairly headed for a strip of shore which offered an excellent opportunity
for making a safe landing, and as that accelerated motion did not appear to
materially affect the stranger, it took but a few minutes to clear the lake.
"Stand ready to
let go when we come low enough, please," warned the professor, deftly
managing his pet machine for that purpose.
The stranger easily
landed, then watched the flying-machine with painfully eager gaze, hands
clasped almost as though in prayer. A more remarkable sight than this
half-naked shape, burned brown by the sun, poorly protected by light skins,
with sinew fastenings, could scarcely be imagined; and there was something
close akin to tears in more eyes than one when he came running in chase, arms
outstretched, and voice wildly appealing:
"Oh, come back!
Take me,--don’t leave me,--for love of God and humanity, don’t leave me to this
living death!"
Professor Featherwit
called back a hasty assurance, and brought the air-ship to a landing with
greater haste than was exactly prudent, all things considered; but who could
keep cool blood and unmoved heart, with yonder piteous object before their
eyes?
When he saw that the
flying-machine had fairly landed, and beheld its inmates stepping forth upon
the sands with friendly salutations, the rescued stranger staggered, hands
clasping his temples for a moment of drunken reeling, then he fell forward like
one smitten by the hand of sudden death.
Professor Featherwit
called out a few curt directions, which were promptly obeyed by his nephews,
and after a few minutes’ well-directed work consciousness was restored, and the
stranger feebly strove to give them thanks.
In vain these were set
aside. He seemed like one half-insane from joy, and none who saw and heard
could think that all this emotion arose from the simple rescue from the
whirlpool. Nor did it.
Wildly, far from
coherently, the poor fellow spoke, yet something of the awful truth was to be
gleaned even from those broken, disjointed sentences.
For ten years an exile
in these horrible wilds. For ten years not a single glimpse of white face or
figure. For ten ages no intelligible voice, save his own; and that, through
long disuse, had threatened to desert him!
"Ten years!"
echoed Waldo, in amazement. "Why didn’t you rack out o’ this, then? I know
I would; even if the woods were full of--‘sour-us’ and the like o’ that! Yes,
sir!"
A low, husky laugh came
through those heavily bearded lips, and the stranger flung out his hands in a
sweeping gesture, sunken eyes glowing with an almost savage light as he spoke
with more coherence:
"Why is it, young
gentleman? Why did I not leave, do you ask? Look! All about you it stretches: a
cell,--a death-cell, from which escape is impossible! Here I have fought for
what is ever more precious than bare life: for liberty; but though ten awful
years have rolled by, here I remain, in worse than prison! Escape? Ah, how
often have I attempted to escape, only to fail, because escape from these wilds
is beyond the power of any person not gifted with wings!"
"Ten years, you
say, good friend? And all that time you have lived here alone?" asked the
professor, curiously.
"Ten years,--ten
thousand years, I could almost swear, only for keeping the record so carefully,
so religiously. And--pitiful Lord! How gladly would I have given my good right
arm, just for one faraway glimpse of civilisation! How often--but I am wearying
you, gentlemen, and you may--pray don’t think that I am crazy; you will
not?"
Both the professor and
Bruno assured him to the contrary, but Waldo was less affected, and his
curiosity could no longer be kept within bounds. Gently tapping one hairy arm,
he spoke:
"I say, friend,
what were you doing out yonder in the big suck? Didn’t you know the fun was
hardly equal to the risk, sir?"
"Easy, lad,"
reproved the professor; but with a a smile, which strangely softened that
haggard, weather-worn visage, the stranger spoke:
"Nay, kind sir, do
not check the young gentleman. If you could only realise how sweet it is to my
poor ears,--the sound of a friendly voice! For so many weary years I have never
heard one word from human lips which I could understand or make answer to. And
now,--what is it you wish to know, my dear boy?"
"Well, since you’ve
lived here so long, surely you hadn’t ought to get caught in such a nasty
pickle; unless it was through accident?"
"It was partly
accidental. One that would have cost me dearly had not you come to my aid so
opportunely. And yet,--only for one thing, I could scarcely have regretted
vanishing for ever down that suck!"
His voice choked, his
head bowed, his hands came together in a nervous grip, all betokening unusual
agitation. Even Waldo was just a bit awed, and the stranger was first to break
that silence with words.
"How did the
mishap come about, is it, young gentleman?" he said, a wan smile creeping
into his face, and relaxing those tensely drawn muscles once more. "While
I was trying to replenish my stock of provisions, and after this fashion, good
friends.
"I was fishing
from a small canoe, and as the bait was not taken well, I must have fallen into
a day dream, thinking of--no matter, now. And during that dreaming, the breeze
must have blown me well out into the lake, for when I was roused up by a sharp
jerk at my line, I found myself near its middle, without knowing just how I
came there.
"I have no idea
what sort of fish had taken my bait,--there are many enormous ones in the
lake,--but it proved far too powerful for me to manage, and dragged the canoe
swiftly through the water, heading directly for the outlet, yonder."
"Why didn’t you
let it go free, then?"
"The line was
fastened to the prow, and I could not loosen it in time. I drew my knife,--one
of flint, but keen enough to serve,--only to have it jerked out of my hand and
into the water. Then, just as the fish must have plunged into the suck, I
abandoned my canoe, jumping overboard."
"That’s just what
I was wondering about," declared Waldo, with a vigorous nod of his head.
"Yet we found you--there?"
"Because I am a
wretchedly poor swimmer. I managed to reach a drift which had not yet fairly
entered the whirl, but I could do nothing more. towards saving myself. Then--you
can guess the rest, gentlemen."
"And the
canoe?" demanded Waldo, content only when all points were made manifest.
"I saw it dragged
down the centre of the suck," with an involuntary shiver. "The fish
must have plunged into the underground river, whether willingly or not I can
only surmise. But all the while I was drifting yonder, around and around, with
each circuit drawing closer to the awful end, I could not help picturing to
myself how the canoe must have plunged down, and down, and--burr-r-r!"
A shuddering shiver
which was more eloquent than words; but Waldo was not yet wholly content,
finding an absorbing interest in that particular subject.
"You call it a
river: how do you know it’s a river?"
"Of course, I can
only guess at the facts, my dear boy," the stranger made reply, smiling
once more, and, with an almost timid gesture, extending one hairy paw to
lightly touch and gently stroke the arm nearest him.
Bruno turned away
abruptly, for that gesture, so simple in itself, yet so full of pathos to one
who bore in mind those long years of solitary exile, brought a moisture to his
big brown eyes of which, boy-like, he felt ashamed.
Professor Featherwit
likewise took note, and with greater presence of mind came to the rescue,
lightly resting a hand upon the stranger’s half-bare shoulder while addressing
his words to the youngster.
A tremulous sigh
escaped those bearded lips, and their owner drew closer to the wiry little
aeronaut, plainly drawing great comfort from that mere contact. And with like
ease uncle Phaeton lifted one of those hairy arms to rest it over his own
shoulders, speaking briskly the while.
"There is only one
way of demonstrating the truth more clearly, my youthful inquisitor, and that
is by sending you on a voyage of exploration. Are you willing to make the
attempt, Waldo?"
"Not this evening;
some other evening,--maybe!" drawing back a bit, with a shake of his curly
pate to match. "But, I say, uncle Phaeton--"
"Allow me to
complete my say, first, dear boy," with a bland smile. "That is
easily done, though, for it merely consists of this: yonder sink, or whirlpool,
is certainly the method this lake has of relieving itself of all surplus water.
Everything points to a subterranean river which connects this lake with the
Pacific Ocean."
"Wonder how long I’d
have to hold my breath to make the trip?"
THE stranger laughed
aloud at this, then seemed surprised that aught of mirth could be awakened
where grief and despair had so long reigned supreme.
"You will come
with me to--to my den, gentlemen?" he asked, still nervous, and plainly
loath to do aught which indicated a return to his recent dreary method of
living.
"Is the distance
great?" asked Professor Featherwit, with a glance towards the aeromotor,
then flashing his gaze further, as though to guard against possible harm coming
to that valuable piece of property.
More than ever to be
guarded now, since the words spoken by this exile. Better death in yonder
mighty whirlpool than a half-score years’ imprisonment here!
Not so very far, he was
assured, while it would be comparatively easy to float the air-ship above the
trees, there of no extraordinary growth.
At the same time this
assurance was given, the stranger could not mask his uneasiness of mind, and it
was really pitiful to see one so strong in body and limb, so weak otherwise.
But uncle Phaeton was a
fairly keen judge of human nature, and possessed no small degree of tact.
Divining the real cause of that dread, he took the easiest method of allaying
it, speaking briskly as he moved across to the aerostat.
"Beer the
gentleman company, my lads, while I manage the ship. You will know what signals
to make, and I can contrive the rest."
Again the recluse
laughed, but now it was through pure joy, such as he had not experienced for
long years gone by. He was not to be deserted by his rescuers from the whirlpool,
and that was comfort enough for the moment.
Thanks to that
guidance, but little time was cut to waste, Professor Featherwit taking the
flying-machine away from the shore of the lake, floating slowly above the
tree-tops, guiding his movements by those below, finally effecting a safe
landing in a miniature glade, at no great distance from the "den"
alluded to by their new-found friend.
"It will be
perfectly safe here," the exile hastened to give assurance, as that
landing was made. "Then, too, this is the only spot nigh at hand from
which a hasty ascent could well be made, even with such an admirable machine as
yours. Ah, me!" with a long breath which lacked but little of being a
sigh, as he keenly, eagerly examined the aerostat. "A marvel! Who would have
dared predict such another, only a dozen years ago? I thought we had drawn very
close to perfection while I was in the profession, but this,--marvellous!"
Both words and manner
gave the keen-witted professor a clew to one mystery, and he quickly spoke:
"Then you were
familiar with aerostatics, sir? Your name is--"
"Edgecombe,--Cooper
Edgecombe."
"What?" with
undisguised surprise in face as in voice. "Professor Edgecombe, the
celebrated balloonist who was lost so long ago?"
"Ay! lost here in
this thrice accursed wilderness!" passionately cried the exile; then, as
though abashed by his own outburst, he turned away, pausing again only when at
the entrance to his dreary refuge of many years.
"Give the poor
fellow his own way until he has had time to rally, boys," muttered uncle
Phaeton, in lowered tones, before following that lead. "I can understand
it better, now, and this is--still is the terra incognita of which I have
dreamed so long!"
That refuge proved to
be a large, fairly dry cavern, the entrance to which was admirably masked by
vines and creepers, while the stony soil just there retained no trace of
footprints to tell dangerous tales.
Mr. Edgecombe vanished,
but not for long. Then, showing a light, formed of fat and twisted wick in a hollowed
bit of hardwood, he begged his rescuers to enter.
No second invitation
was needed, for even the professor felt a powerful curiosity to learn what
method had been followed by this enforced exile; how he had managed to live for
so many weary years.
With only that smoky
lamp to shed light around the place, critical investigation was a matter of
time and painstaking, although a general idea of the cavern was readily formed.
High overhead arched
the rocky roof, blackened by smoke, and looking more gloomy than nature had
intended. The side walls were likewise irregular, now showing tiny niches and
nooks, then jutting out to form awkward points and elbows, which were but
partially disguised by such articles of wear and daily use as the exile had
collected during the years gone by, or since his occupancy first began.
So much the professor
took in with his initial glances, but then he left Waldo and his brother to
look more closely, himself giving thought to the being whom they had so happily
saved from the whirlpool.
"Professor
Edgecombe!" he again exclaimed, grasping those roughened hands to press
them cordially. "I ought to have recognised you at sight, no doubt, since
I have watched your ascents time and time again."
The exile smiled
faintly, shaking his head and giving another sigh.
"Ah, me! ’twas
vastly different, then. I only marvel that you should give me credit when I lay
claim to that name, so long--it has long faded from the public’s memory,
sir."
But uncle Phaeton shook
his head, decidedly.
"No, no, I assure
you, my friend; far from it. Whenever the topic is brought to the front;
whenever aerostatics are discussed, your name and fame are sure to play a
prominent part. And yet,--you disappeared so long ago, never being heard of
after--"
"After sailing
away upon the storm for which I had waited and prayed, for so many weary,
heart-sick months!"
"So the rumour
ran, but we all believed that must be an exaggeration, and not for a long time
was all hope abandoned. Then, more hearts than one felt sore and sad at
thoughts of your untimely fate."
"A fate infinitely
worse than ordinary death such as was credited me," huskily muttered the
exile. "Ten years,--and ever since I have been here, helpless to extricate
myself, doomed to a living death, which none other can ever fully realise!
Doomed to--to--"
His voice choked, and
he turned away to hide his emotions.
Professor Featherwit
thoroughly appreciated the interruption which came through Waldo’s lips just at
that moment.
"Oh, I say,--uncle
Phaeton!"
"What is it, lad?
Don’t meddle with what doesn’t--"
"Looking can’t
hurt, can it? And to think people ever got along with such things as
these!"
Waldo was squared
before sundry articles depending from the side wall, and as the professor drew
closer, he, too, displayed a degree of interest which was really remarkable.
A gaily colored tunic
of thickly quilted cotton was hanging beside an oddly shaped war club, the
heavier end of which was armed with blades of stone which gleamed and sparkled
even in that dim light. And attached to this weapon was another, hardly less
curious: a knife formed of copper, with heft and blade all from one piece of
metal.
"Here is the rest
of the outfit," said Edgecombe, holding forth a bow and several feathered
arrows with obsidian heads.
Professor Featherwit
gave a low, eager cry as he handled the various articles, both face and manner
betraying intense delight, which found partial vent in words a little later.
"Wonderful!
Marvellous! Superb! I envy you, sir; I can’t help but envy your possession of
so magnificent--and so well-preserved, too! That is the marvel of
marvels!"
"Well, to be sure,
I haven’t used them very much. The bow and arrows I could manage fairly well,
after busy practice. They have saved me from more than one hungry night. But as
for the rest--"
"You might have
worn the-- Is it a ghost-dance shirt, though?" hesitatingly asked Waldo,
gingerly fingering the wadded tunic.
"Waldo, I’m
ashamed of you, boy!" almost harshly reproved the professor.
"Ghost-dance shirt, indeed! And this one of the most complete--the only
perfectly preserved specimen of the ancient Aztec--pray, my good friend, where
did you discover them? Surely there can be no burial mounds so far above the
latitude where that unfortunate race lived and died?"
Mr. Edgecombe shook his
head, with a puzzled look, then made reply:
"No, sir. I took
these all from an Indian I was forced to kill in order to save my own life. I
never thought-- You are ill, sir?"
"Bless my
soul!" ejaculated the professor, falling back a pace or two, then sitting
down with greater force than grace, all the while gazing upon those weapons
like one in a daze. "Found them--Indian--killed him in order to--bless my
soul!"
Then, with marvellous
activity for one of his age, the professor recovered his footing, mumbling
something about tripping a heel, then resumed his examination of the
curiosities as though he had care for naught beside.
Cooper Edgecombe turned
away, and the professor improved the opportunity by muttering to the brothers:
"Careful, lads.
Give the poor fellow his own way in all things, for he is--he surely must
be--eh?"
Forefinger covertly
tapped forehead, for there was no time granted for further explanations.
Edgecombe turned again, speaking in hard, even strained tones:
"Fifteen years ago
this month, on the 27th, to be exact, a balloon with two passengers was carried
away on a terrific gale of wind which blew from the southeast. This happened in
Washington Territory. Can you tell me--has anything ever been heard of either
balloon or its inmates?"
Professor Featherwit
shook his head in negation before saying:
"Not to my
knowledge, though doubtless the prints of the day--"
Cooper Edgecombe shook
both head and hand with strange impatience.
"No, no. I know
they were never heard from up to ten years ago, but since then-- I am a fool to
even dream of such a thing, and yet,--only for that faint hope I would have
gone mad long ago!"
Indeed, he looked
little less than insane as it was.
THIS was the idea that
occurred to both uncle and nephews, but they had seen and heard enough to
excuse all that, and Professor Featherwit spoke again, in mildly curious tones:
"Sorry I am unable
to give you better tidings, my good friend, but, so far as my knowledge
extends, nothing has come to light of recent years. And--if not a leading
question--were those passengers friends of your own?"
"Only--merely
my--my wife and little daughter," came the totally unexpected reply,
followed by a forced laugh which sounded anything but mirthful.
Uncle Phaeton,
intensely chagrined, hastened to apologise for his luckless break, but Cooper
Edgecombe cut him short, asking that the matter be let drop for the time being.
"I will talk; I
feel that I must tell you all, or lose what few wits I have left," he
declared, huskily. "But not right now. It is growing late. You must be
hungry. I have no very extensive larder, but with my little will go the
gratitude of a man who--"
His voice choked, and
he left the sentence unfinished, hurrying away to prepare such a meal as his
limited means would permit.
While Edgecombe was
kindling a fire in one corner of the cavern, opening a pile of ashes to extract
the few carefully cherished coals by means of which the wood was to be fired,
uncle and one nephew left the den to look after the flying-machine and
contents.
Bruno remained behind,
in obedience to a hint from the professor, lest the exile should dread
desertion, after all.
"Take these in and
open them, Waldo," said the professor, selecting several cans from the
stock in the locker. "Poor fellow! ’Twill be like a foretaste of
civilisation, just to see and smell, much less taste, the fruit."
"Even if he has
turned looney, eh, uncle Phaeton?"
"Careful, boy! I
hardly think he is just that far gone; but, even if so, what marvel? Think of
all he must have suffered during so many long, dreary years! and--his wife and
child! I wonder--I do wonder if he really killed--but that is incredible,
simply and utterly incredible! An Aztec--here--alive!"
"Dead, uncle
Phaeton," corrected Waldo. "Killed the redskin, he said, and I really
reckon he meant it. Why not, pray?"
"But--an Aztec,
boy!" exclaimed the bewildered savant, unable to pass that point.
"The tunic of quilted cotton, the escaupil! The maquahuitl, with its
blades of grass! The bow and arrows which--all, all surely of Aztecan
manufacture, yet seemingly fresh and serviceable as though in use but a month
ago! And the race extinct for centuries!"
"Well, unless he’s
a howling liar from ’way up the crick, he extincted one of ’em,"
cheerfully commented Waldo, bearing his canned fruit to the cavern.
Professor Featherwit
followed shortly after, finding the exile busy preparing food, looking and
acting far more naturally than he had since his rescue from the whirlpool. And
then, until the evening meal was announced, uncle Phaeton hovered near those
amazing curiosities, now gazing like one in a waking dream, then gingerly
fingering each article in turn, as though hoping to find a solution for his
enigma through the sense of touch.
Taken all in all, that
was far from a pleasant or enjoyable meal. A sense of restraint rested upon
each one of that little company, and not one succeeded in fairly breaking it
away, though each tried in turn.
Despite the struggle
made by the exile to hold all emotions well under subjection, Cooper Edgecombe
failed to hide his almost childish delight at sight and taste of those canned
goods, and it did not require much urging on the part of his rescuers to ensure
his partaking freely.
But the cap-sheaf came
when uncle Phaeton, true to his habit of long years, after eating, produced
pipe and pouch, the fragrant tobacco catching the exile’s nostrils and drawing
a low, tremulous cry from his lips.
No need to ask what was
the matter, for that eager gaze, those quivering fingers, were enough. And just
as though this had been his express purpose, the professor passed the pipe over,
quietly speaking:
"Perhaps you would
like a little smoke after your supper, my good friend? Oblige me by--"
"May I? Oh, sir,
may I--really taste--oh, oh, oh!"
Bruno struck a match
and steadied the pipe until the tobacco was fairly ignited, then drew back and
left the exile to himself for the time being. And, as covert glances told them,
never before had their eyes rested upon mortal being so intensely happy as was
the long-lost aeronaut then and there.
At a sign from the
professor, Bruno and Waldo silently arose and left the cavern, bearing their
guardian company to where the air-ship was resting. And there they busied
themselves with making preparations for the night, which was just settling over
that portion of the earth.
Presently Cooper Edgecombe
appeared, the empty pipe in hand, held as one might caress an inestimable
treasure, a dreamy, almost blissful expression upon his sun-browned face.
"I thank you, sir,
more than tongue can tell," he said, quietly, as he restored the pipe to
its owner. "If you could only realise what I have suffered through this
deprivation! I, an inveterate smoker; yet suddenly deprived of it, and so kept
for ten long years! If I had had a pipe and tobacco, I believe--but
enough."
"I can sympathise
with you, at least in part, my friend. Will you have another smoke, by the
way?"
"No, no, not now;
I feel blessed for the moment, and more might be worse than none, after so long
deprivation. And--may I talk openly to you, dear, kind friends? May I tell
you--am I selfish in wishing to trouble you thus? Ten years, remember, and not
a soul to speak with!"
He laughed, but it was
a sorry mirth; and not caring to trust his tongue just then, uncle Phaeton
nodded his head emphatically while filling his pipe for himself. But Waldo
never lacked for words, and spoke out:
"That’s all right,
sir; we can listen as long as you can chin-chin. Tell us all about--well, what’s
the matter with that big Injun?"
"Quiet, Waldo. Say
what best pleases you, my friend. You can be sure of one thing,--sympathetic
listeners, if nothing better."
With a curious shiver,
as though afflicted with a sudden chill, Edgecombe turned partly away, figure
drawn rigidly erect, hands tightly clasped behind his back. A brief silence,
then he spoke in tones of forced composure.
"A balloon was the
best, in my day, and I was proud of my profession, although even then I was
dreaming of better things--of something akin to this marvellous creation of
yours, sir," casting a fleeting glance at the air-ship, then at the face
of its builder, afterward resuming his former attitude.
"Let that pass,
though. I wanted to tell you how I met with my awful loss; how I came to be out
here in this modern hell!
"I had a wife, a
daughter, each of whom felt almost as powerful an interest in aerostatics as I
did myself. And one day--but, wait!
"I had an enemy,
too; one who had, years before, sought to win my love for his own; in vain, the
cur! And that day--we were out here in Washington Territory, living in
comparative solitude that I might the better study out the theory I was slowly
shaping in my brain.
"The day was
beautiful, but almost oppressively warm, and, as they so frequently wished, I
let my dear ones up in the balloon, securely fastening it below. And then--God
forgive me!--I went back to town for something; I forget just what, now.
"A sudden storm
came up. I hurried homeward; home to me was wherever my dear ones chanced to
be; but I was just too late! That devil of all devils was ahead of me, and I
saw him--merciful God! I saw him--cut the ropes and let the balloon dart away
upon that awful gale!"
His voice choked, and
for a few minutes silence reigned. Knowing how vain must be any attempt to
offer consolation, the trio of air-voyagers said nothing, and presently Cooper
Edgecombe spoke.
"I killed the
demon. I nearly tore him limb from limb; I would have done just that, only for
those who came hurrying after me from town, knowing that I might need help in
bringing my balloon to earth in safety. They dragged me away, but ’twas too
late to cheat my miserable vengeance. That hound was dead, but--my darlings
were gone, for ever!"
Another pause, then
quieter, more coherent speech.
"God alone knows
whither my wife and child were taken. The general drift was in this direction,
but how far they were carried, or how long they may have lived, I can only
guess; enough that, despite all my inquiries, made far and wide in every
direction, I never heard aught of either balloon or passengers!
"After that, I had
but one object in life: to follow along the track of that storm, and either
find my loved ones, or--or some clew which should for ever solve my awful
doubts! And for two long years or more I fought to pierce these horrid
fastnesses,--all in vain. No mortal man could succeed, even when urged on by
such a motive as mine.
"Then I determined
upon another course. I worked and slaved until I could procure another balloon,
as nearly like the one I lost as might be constructed. Then I watched and
waited for just such another storm as the one upon whose wings my darlings were
borne away, meaning to take the same course, and so find--"
"Why, man, dear,
you must have been insane!" impulsively cried the professor, unable longer
to control his tongue.
"Perhaps I was;
little wonder if so," admitted Edgecombe, turning that way, with a wan
smile lighting up his visage. "I could no longer reason. I could only act.
I had but that one grim hope, to eventually discover what time and exposure to
the weather might have left of my lost loves.
"Then, after so
long waiting, the storm came, blowing in the same direction as that other. I
cut my balloon loose, and let it drift. I looked and waited, hoping, longing,
yet--failing! I was wrecked, here in this wilderness. My balloon was carried
away. I failed to find--aught!"
Cooper Edgecombe turned
towards the air-ship, with a sigh of regret.
"If one had
something like this then, I might have found them,--even alive! But now--too
late--eternally too late!"
UNCLE PHAETON was more
than willing to do the honours of his pet invention, and this afforded a most
happy diversion, although the deepening twilight hindered any very extensive
examination.
Cooper Edgecombe showed
himself in a vastly different light while thus engaged, his shrewd questions,
his apt comments, quite effectually removing the far from agreeable doubts born
of his earlier words and demeanour.
"Well, if he’s
looney, it’s only on some points, not as the whole porker, anyway,"
confidentially asserted Waldo, when an opportunity offered. "Coax him to
tell how he knocked the redskin out, uncle Phaeton."
Little need of
recalling that perplexing incident to the worthy savant, for, try as he might,
Featherwit could not keep from brooding over that wondrous collection of relics
pertaining to a long-since extinct people. Of course, the last one had perished
ages ago; and yet--and yet--
Through his
half-bewildered brain flashed the accounts given by the coast tribes, members
of which he had so frequently interviewed concerning this unknown land, one and
all of whom had more or less to say in regard to a strange people, terrible
fighters, mighty hunters, one burning glance from whose eyes carried death and
decay unto all who were foolhardy enough even to attempt to pass those mighty
barriers, built up by a beneficent nature. Only for that nearly impassable
wall, the entire earth would be overrun and dominated by these monsters in
human guise.
Then, after the
air-ship was cared for to the best of his ability, and the night-guard set in
place so that an alarm might give warning of any illegal intrusion, the little
party returned to the cavern home of the exile where, after another refusal on
his part, the professor filled and lighted his beloved pipe.
Almost in spite of
himself Featherwit was drawn towards those marvellous articles depending from
the wall, and, as he gazed in silent marvel, Cooper Edgecombe drew nigh, with
still other articles to complete the collection.
"You may possibly
find something of interest in these, too, dear sir, although I have given them
rather rough usage. This formed a rather comfortable cap, and--"
"A helmet! And
sandals! A sash which is--yes! worn about the waist, mainly to support weapons,
and termed a maxtlatl, which--and all sufficiently well preserved to be readily
recognised as genuine--unless-- Surely I am dreaming!"
If not precisely that,
the worthy professor assuredly was almost beside himself while examining these
articles of warrior’s wear, one by one, knowing that neither eyes nor memory
were at fault, yet still unable to believe those very senses.
Up to this, Cooper
Edgecombe had felt but a passing interest in the matter, forming as it did but
a single incident in a more than ordinarily eventful life; but now he began to
divine at least a portion of the truth, and his face was lighted up with
unusual animation, when Phaeton Featherwit turned that way, to almost sharply
demand:
"Where did you
gain possession of these weapons and garments, sir? And how,--from whom?"
"I took them from
an Indian, nearly two years ago. He caught me off my guard, and, when I saw
that I could neither hide nor flee, I fought for my life," explained the
exile; then giving a short, bitter laugh, to add: "Strange, is it not?
Although I had long since grown weary of existence such as this, I fought for
it; I turned wild beast, as it were! Then, after all was over, I took these
things, more because I feared his comrades might suspect--"
"His
comrades?" echoed the professor. "More than the one, then? You killed
him, but--there were others, still?"
"Many of them; far
too many for any one man to withstand," earnestly declared the exile.
"I made all haste in bearing the redskin here, obliterating all signs as
quickly as possible; yet for days and nights I cowered here in utter darkness,
each minute expecting an attack from too powerful a force for standing against."
Uncle Phaeton rubbed
his hands briskly, shifting his weight hurriedly from one foot to its mate,
then back again, the very personification of eager interest and growing
conviction.
"More of them? A
strong force? Armed,--and garbed as of old? The clothing, the footwear, and,
above all else, the weapons, purely Aztecan? And here, only two short years
ago?"
"Sadly long and
hideously dreary years I have found them, sir," the exile said, in
dejected tones.
The professor burst
into a shrill, excited laugh, which sounded almost hysterical, and, not a
little to the amazement of his nephews, broke into a regular dance, jigging it
right merrily, hands on hips, head perked, and chin in air, at the same time
striving to carry the tune in his far from melodious voice.
After all, perhaps no
better method could have been taken to work off his almost hysterical
excitement, and presently he paused, panting and heated, chuckling after an
abashed fashion as he encountered the eyes of his nephews.
"Not a word, my dear
boys," he hastened to plead. "I had to do something or--or explode! I
feel better, now. I can behave myself, I hope. I am calm, cool, and composed
as--the genuine Aztecs! And we are the ones to discover that--oh, I
forgot!"
For Waldo was fairly
exploding with mirth, while Bruno smiled, and even the exile appeared to be
amused to a certain extent at his expense.
Little by little, the
worthy savant calmed down, and then, almost forcing the exile to indulge in
another delicious smoke, he led up to the subject in which his interest was
fairly intense.
Cooper Edgecombe was
willing enough to tell all that lay in his power, although he was only
beginning to realise how much that might mean to the world at large, judging by
the actions of the professor.
According to his
account, the great lake, or drainage reservoir of the Olympics, was a sort of
semi-yearly rendezvous for a warlike tribe of red men, where they congregated
for the purpose of catching and drying vast quantities of fish, doubtless to be
used during the winter.
"As a general
thing they pitch their camp on the other side, over towards the northeast; but
small parties are pretty sure to rove far and wide, coming around this way
quite as often as not."
"And their
garb,--the weapons they bore?" asked the professor.
Edgecombe motioned
towards those articles in which such a lively interest had been awakened, then
said that, while few of the red men who had come beneath his near observation
had been so elaborately equipped, he had taken notice of similar weapons and
garments, with additions which he strove hard to describe with accuracy.
Nearly every sentence
which crossed his lips served to confirm the marvellous truth which had so
dazzlingly burst upon the professor’s eager brain, and with a glib tongue he
named each weapon, each garment, as accurately as ever set down in ancient
history, not a little to the wide-eyed amazement of Waldo Gillespie.
"Worse than those
blessed ‘sour-us’ and cousins," he confided to his brother, in a whisper.
"Reckon it’s all right, Bruno? Uncle isn’t--eh?"
But uncle Phaeton paid
them no attention, so deeply was he stirred by this wondrous revelation. He
felt that he was upon the verge of a discovery which would startle the wide
world as no recent announcement had been able to do, unless--but it surely must
be correct!
And then, when Cooper
Edgecombe finished all he could tell concerning those queerly armed and gaudily
garbed red men, the professor let loose his tongue, telling what glorious hopes
and dazzling anticipations were now within him.
"For hundreds upon
hundreds of years there have been wild, weird legends about the Lost City, but
that merely meant a mass of wondrous ruins, long since overwhelmed by shifting
sands, somewhere in the heart of the great American desert, so-called.
"By some it was
claimed that this ancient city owed its primal existence to a fragment of the
Aztecs, driven from their native quarters in Old Mexico. By others ’twas
attributed unto one of the fabulous ‘Lost Tribes of Israel,’ but even the most
enthusiastic never for one moment dreamed of--this!"
"Except yourself,
uncle Phaeton," cut in Waldo, with a subdued grin. "This must be one
of the marvels you calculated on discovering, thanks to the flying-machine,
eh?"
"Nay, my boy; I
never let my imagination soar half so high as all that," quickly answered
the professor. "But now--now I feel confident that just such a discovery
lies before us, and with the dawn of a new day we will ascend and look for the
glorious ‘Lost City of the Aztecs!’ "
Again the savant sprang
to his feet, wildly gesticulating as he strode to and fro, striving to thus
work off some of the intense excitement which had taken full possession. And
words fell rapidly from his lips the while, only a portion of which need be
placed upon record in this connection, however.
"A fico for the
paltry lost cities of musty tradition, now! They may sleep beneath the
sand-storms of countless years, but this--I would gladly give one of my eyes
for the certainty that its mate might gaze upon such a wondrous spectacle as--
Oh, if it might only prove true! If I might only discover such a stupendous
treasure! Aztecs! And in the present day! Alive--armed and garbed as of yore!
Amazing! Incredible! Astounding beyond the wildest dreams of a
confirmed--"
With startling
swiftness uncle Phaeton wheeled to confront the exile, gripping his arm with
fierce vigour, as he shrilly demanded:
"Opium--are you an
eater of drugs, Cooper Edgecombe?"
Even as the words
crossed his lips, the professor realised how preposterous they must sound, but
the exile shook his head, earnestly.
"I never ate drugs
in that shape, sir. Even if I had been addicted to morphine and the like, how
could I indulge the appetite here, in these gloomy, lonely wilds?"
"I beg your
pardon, sir; most humbly I implore your forgiveness. I have but one excuse--this
wondrous-- Good night! I’m going to bed before I add to my new reputation as--a
blessed idiot, no less!"
BUT the night was
considerably older ere any one of that quartette lost himself in slumber, for
all had been too thoroughly wrought up by the exciting events of the past day
for sleep to claim an easy subject.
By common consent,
however, that one particular subject was barred for the present, and then,
sitting in a cosy group about the glowing fire there in the cavern, the
recently formed friends talked and chatted, asking and answering questions
almost past counting.
Little wonder that such
should be the case, so far as Cooper Edgecombe was concerned, since he had been
lost to the busy world and its many changes for a long decade.
Then, too, his own
dreary existence held a strange charm for the air-voyagers, and the exile grew
wonderfully cheerful and bright-eyed as he in part depicted his struggles to
sustain life against such heavy odds, and still strove to keep alive that one
hope,--that even yet he might be able to discover a clew to his loved and lost
ones.
"Not alive; I have
long since abandoned that faint hope. But if I might only find something to
make sure, something that I could pray over, then bury where my heart could
hover above--"
"You are still
alive, good friend, yet you have spent long years out here in the
wilderness," gently suggested the professor.
Edgecombe flinched, as
one might when a rude hand touches a still raw wound.
"But they, my
wife, my baby girl,--they could never have lived as I have existed. They surely
must have perished; if not at once, then when the first cruel storms of hideous
winter came howling down from the far north!"
"Unless they were
found and rescued by--who knows, my good sir?" forcing a cheerful smile,
which, unfortunately, was only surface-born, as the exile lifted his head with
a start and a gasping ejaculation. "Since it seems fairly well proven that
this supposedly unknown land is actually inhabited, why may your loved ones not
have been rescued?"
"The Indians? You
mean by the Aztecs, sir?"
"If Aztecans they
should really prove; why not?"
"But, surely I
have heard--sacrifices?" huskily breathed the greatly agitated man, while
the professor, realising how he was making a bad matter worse, brazenly
falsified the records, declaring that no human sacrifices had ever stained the
record of that noble, honourable, gallant race; and then changed the subject as
quickly as might be.
Nevertheless, there was
one good effect following that talk. Cooper Edgecombe had dreaded nothing so
much as the fear of being left behind by these, the first white people he had
seen for what seemed more than an ordinary lifetime; but now, when the
professor hinted at a longing to take a spin through ether, for the purpose of
winning a wider view, he eagerly seconded that idea, even while realising that
it would be difficult to take him along with the rest.
Still, nothing was
definitely settled that evening, and at a fairly respectable hour before the
turn of night, the air-voyagers were wrapped in their blankets and soundly
slumbering.
Not so the exile. Sleep
was far from his brain, and while he really knew that danger could hardly
menace that wondrous bit of ingenious mechanism, he watched it throughout that
long night, ready to risk his own life in its defence should the occasion
arise.
Why not, since his
whole future depended upon the aeromotor? By its aid he hoped to reach
civilization once more; and in spite of the great loss which had wrecked his
life, he was thrilled to the centre by that glorious prospect. Here he was dead
while breathing; there he would at least be in touch with his fellow men once
more!
An early meal was
prepared by the exile, and in readiness when his trio of guests awakened to the
new day; and then, while busily discussing the really appetising viands placed
before them, the next move was fully determined upon.
Not a little to his
secret delight, the professor heard Edgecombe broach the subject of further
explorations, and seeing that his excitement had passed away in goodly measure
during the silent watches of the night, he talked with greater freedom.
"Of course we’ll
keep in touch with you, here, friend, and take no decisive move without your
knowledge and consent. Our fate shall be yours, and your fate shall be ours.
Only--I would dearly love to catch a glimpse of-- If there should actually be a
Lost City in existence!"
"If there is, as
there surely must be one of some description, judging from the number of red
men I have seen collecting here at the lake," observed the exile,
"you certainly ought to make the discovery with the aid of your air-ship.
You can ascend at will, of course, sir?"
Nothing loath, the
professor spoke of his pet and its wondrous capabilities, and then all hands
left the cavern for the outer air, to prepare for action.
As a further assurance,
uncle Phaeton begged Edgecombe to enter the aerostat, then skilfully caused the
vessel to float upward into clear space, sailing out over the lake even to the
whirlpool itself before turning, his passenger eagerly watching every move and
touch of hand, asking questions which proved him both shrewd and ingenious,
from a mechanical point of view.
Returning to their
starting-point, Edgecombe sprang lightly to earth to make way for the brothers,
face ruddy and eyes aglow as he again begged them all to keep watch for aught
which might solve the mystery yet surrounding the fate of his loved ones.
The promise was given,
together with an earnest assurance that they would soon return; then the
parting was cut as short as might be, all feeling that such a course was wisest
and kindest, after all.
For an hour or more the
air-ship sped on, high in air, its inmates viewing the various and varying
landmarks beneath and beyond them, all marvelling at the fact that such an
immense scope of country should for so long be left in its native virginity,
especially where all are so land-hungry.
Then, as nothing of
especial interest was brought to their notice, uncle Phaeton quite naturally
reverted to that suit of Aztecan armour, and the glorious possibilities which
the words of the exile had opened up to them as explorers.
Bruno listened with unfeigned
interest, but not so his more mercurial brother, who took advantage of an
opening left by the professor, to bluntly interject:
"What mighty good,
even if you should find it all, uncle Phaeton? You couldn’t pick it up and tote
it away, to start a dime museum with. And, as for my part,--I’ll tell you what!
If we could only find something like Aladdin’s cave, now!"
"Growing miserly
in your old age, are you, lad?" mocked his uncle.
"No; I don’t mean
just that. His trees were hung with riches, but mine should be--crammed and
crowded full of plum pudding, fruit cake, angel food, mince pies, and the like!
Yes, and there should be fountains of lemonade! And mountains of ice-cream! And
sandbars of caramels, and chocolate drops, and trilbies, and--well, now, what’s
the matter with you fellows, anyway?"
He spoke with boyish
indignation at that laughing outbreak, but the kindly professor quickly managed
to smooth the matter over, although not before Waldo had promised Bruno a sound
thumping the first time they set foot upon land.
Until past the noon
hour that pleasant voyage lasted, without any remarkable discovery being made,
the trio munching a cold lunch at their ease, rather than take the trouble to
effect a landing.
But then, not very long
after the sun had begun his downward course, there came a change which caused
Featherwit’s blood to leap through his veins far more rapidly than usual, for
yonder, still a number of miles away, there was gradually opening to view a
hill-surrounded valley of considerable dimension, certain portions of which
betrayed signs of cultivation, or at least of vegetation different from aught
the explorers had as yet come across since entering that land of wonders.
Almost unwittingly
Professor Featherwit sent the air-ship higher, even as it sped onward at
quickened pace, his face as pale as his eyes were glittering, intense
anticipation holding him spellbound for the time being. And then--the wondrous
truth!
"Behold!" he
cried, shrilly, pointing as he spoke. "Houses yonder! Cultivated fields,
and--see! human beings in motion, who are--"
"Kicking up a
great old bobbery, just as though they’d sighted us, and wanted to know-- I
say, uncle Phaeton, how would it feel to get punched full of holes by a parcel
of bow-arrows?"
With a quick motion the
air-ship was turned, darting lower and off at a sharp angle to its former
course, for the professor likewise saw what had attracted the notice of his
younger nephew.
Scattered here and
there throughout that secluded valley were human beings, nearly all of whom had
sprung into sudden motion, doubtless amazed or frightened by the appearance of
that oddly shaped air-demon.
Brief though that view
had been, it was sufficiently long to show the professor houses of solid and
substantial shape, cultivated plots, human beings, and a little river whose
clear waters sparkled and flashed in the sunlight.
It was very hard to cut
that view so short, but the professor had not lost all prudence, and he knew
that danger to both vessel and passengers might follow a nearer intrusion upon
the privacy of yonder armed people. Yet his face was fairly glowing with glad
exultation as he brought the aerostat to a lower strata of air, shutting off
all view from yonder valley, as it lay amid its encircling hills.
"Hurrah!" he
cried, snatching off his cap and waving it enthusiastically, as the air-ship
floated onward at ease. "At last! Found--we’ve discovered it at last! And
all is true,--all is true!"
"Found what, uncle
Phaeton?" asked Waldo, a bit doubtfully.
"The Lost City of
the Aztecs, of course! Oh, glad day, glad day!"
"Unless--what if
it should prove to be only a--a mirage, uncle Phaeton?" almost timidly
ventured Bruno, a moment later.
THE professor gave a great
start at this almost reluctant suggestion, shrinking back with a look which
fell not far short of being horrified. But then he rallied, forcing a laugh
before speaking.
"No, no, Bruno.
All conditions are lacking to form the mirage of the desert. And, too;
everything was so distinct and clearly outlined that one could--"
"Fairly feel those
blessed bow-arrows tickling a fellow in the short ribs," vigorously
declared the younger Gillespie. "Not but that--I say, uncle Phaeton?"
"What is it now,
Waldo?"
"Reckon they’re
like any other people? Got boys and--and girls among ’em, I wonder?"
"I daresay, yes,
why not?" answered Featherwit, scarcely realising what words were being
shaped by his lips, while Bruno broke into a brief-lived laugh, more at that
half-sheepish expression than at the query itself.
"Both boys and
girls galore, I expect, Kid; but you needn’t borrow trouble on either score.
You can outrun the lads, while as for the fairer sex,--well, they’ll take
precious good care to keep well beyond your reach,--especially if you wear such
another fascinating grin as--"
"Oh, you go to
thunder, Bruno Gillespie!"
Through all this
interchange the air-ship was maintaining a wide sweep, drawing nearer the
forest beneath, if only to keep hidden from the eyes of the strange people in
yonder deep valley. Yet the gaze of Phaeton Featherwit as a rule kept turned
towards that particular point, his eyes on fire, his lips twitching, his whole
demeanour that of one who feels a discovery of tremendous importance lies just
before him.
"Are we going to
land, uncle Phaeton?" queried Bruno, taking note of that preoccupation,
which might easily prove dangerous under existing circumstances.
That question served to
recall the professor to more material points, and, after a keen, sweeping look
around, he nodded assent.
"Yes, as soon as I
can discover or secure a fair chance. I wish to see more--I must secure a
fairer view of the--of yonder place."
"Will it not be
too dangerous, though? Not for us, especially, uncle, but for the aerostat?
Even if these be not the people you imagine--"
"They are past all
doubt a remnant of the ancient Aztecs. Yonder lies the true Lost City, and we
are--oh, try to comprehend all that statement means, my lads! Picture to
yourselves what boundless fame and unlimited credit awaits our report to the
outer world! The benighted world! The besotted world! The--the--"
"While we’ll form
the upsotted world, or a portion of it, without something is done,--and that in
a howling hurry, too!" fairly spluttered Waldo, as the again neglected
air-ship sped swiftly towards a more elevated portion of that earth, part of
the tall hill-crest which acted as nature’s barricade to yonder by nature
depressed valley.
"Time enough, lad,
time enough, since we are going to land," coolly assured the professor,
deftly manipulating the steering-gear and still curying around those
tree-crowned hills. "If we are really hunted after, ’twill naturally be in
the quarter of our vanishment, while by alighting around yonder, nearly at
right angles with our initial approach, we will have naught to fear from
the--the Aztecan clans!"
Clearly the professor
had settled in his own mind just what lay before them, and nothing short of the
Lost City of the Aztecs would come anywhere near satisfying that exalted ideal.
And, taking all points into full consideration, was there anything so very
absurd in his method of reasoning, or of drawing a deduction?
Still, that exaltation
did not prevent uncle Phaeton from taking all essential precautions, and it was
only when an especially secure landing-place was sighted that he really
attempted to touch the earth.
Fully one-half of that
wide circuit had been made, and as nothing could be detected to give birth to
fears for either self or air-ship, the aeronauts skilfully landed their vessel
with only the slightest of jars. It was a well-screened location, where naught
could be seen of the flying-machine until close at hand, yet so arranged as to
make a hasty flight a very easy matter should the occasion ever arise.
Not until the landing
was effected and all made secure, did Professor Featherwit speak again. Then it
was with gravely earnest speech which suitably affected his nephews.
"Above all things,
my dear lads, bear ever in mind this one fact,--we are not here to fight. We do
not come as conquerors, weapons in hand, hearts filled with lust of blood. To
the contrary, we are on a peaceful mission, hoping to learn, trusting to
enlighten, with malice towards none, but honest love for all those who may wear
the human shape, be they of our own colour or--or--otherwise."
"That’s what’s the
matter with Hannah’s cat!" cheerfully chipped in the irrepressible Waldo.
"I say, uncle Phaeton, is it just a lie-low here until yonder fellows grow
tired of looking for what they can’t find, then a flight on our part; or will
we--"
"Have we voyaged
so far and seen so much, to rest content with so very little?" exclaimed
the professor, hardly as precise of speech as under ordinary conditions.
"No, no, my lads! Yonder lies the greatest discovery of the nineteenth
century, and we are-- Get a hustle on, boys! The day is waning, and with so
much to see, to study, to-- Come, I say!"
In spite of his initial
attempt to impress his nephews with a due sense of the heavy responsibilities
which rested upon them, Phaeton Featherwit was far more excited than either one
of the brothers. Doubtless he more nearly appreciated the importance of this
wondrous discovery, provided his now firm belief was correct,--that yonder
stood a solid, substantial city, erected by the hands of a people whom common
consent had agreed were long since wiped out of existence.
The story told by
Cooper Edgecombe, backed up by the articles taken from the person of the
warrior whom he had slain in self-defence, certainly had its weight; while the
brief and imperfect glimpse which he had won of yonder valley helped to bear
out that astounding belief. And yet, how could it be true?
Really believing, yet
forced by more sober reason to doubt, the poor professor was literally "in
a sweat" long ere another view could be won of the depressed valley,
although the landing of the air-ship was so well chosen as to make that trip of
the briefest duration consistent with prudence.
The natural obstacles
were considerable, however, and as they picked their way along, the brothers
for the first time began to gain a fairly accurate idea of what was meant by
the term, a virgin forest.
To all seeming, the
human foot had never ventured here, nor were any marks or spoor of wild beasts
perceptible on either side.
Although the aerostat
had landed not far below the crest of those hills, the adventurers had to climb
higher, before winning the coveted view, partly because the most practicable
route led down into and along a winding gulch, where the footing was far less
treacherous than upon the higher ground, cumbered, as that was, with the
leaf-mould of centuries.
Still, half an hour’s
steady labour brought the little squad to the coveted point, and once again
Professor Featherwit was almost literally stricken speechless,--for there, far
below their present location, spread out in level expanse, lay the secret
valley with all its marvels.
Far more extensive than
it had appeared by that initial glimpse, the valley itself seemed composed of
fertile soil, yet, by aid of the river which cut through, near its centre,
irrigating ditches conveyed water to every acre, thus ensuring bounteous crops
of grain and of fruit as well.
Numerous buildings
stood in irregular array, for the most part of no great height, nor with many
pretensions towards architectural beauty or grace of outline; but in the centre
of the valley upreared its head a massive structure, pyramidal in shape, consisting
of five comparatively narrow terraces, connected one with another only at each
of the four corners, where stood a wide-stepped flight of stones.
"Behold!"
huskily gasped the professor, intensely excited, yet still able to control the
field-glass through which he was eagerly scanning yonder marvels. "The
temple of the gods! And, yonder, the temple of sacrifice, unless my memory
is--and look! The people are--they wear just such garb as--Oh, marvellous!
Amazing! Astounding! Incredible--yet true!"
Although their uncle
could thus take in the various details to better advantage, still the
intervening distance was not so great as to entirely debar the brothers from
finding no little to interest them, as was readily proven by their various
exclamations.
"Just look at the
people, will ye, now? Flopping around like they hadn’t any bigger business than
to-- Reckon they’re looking for us to come back, Bruno?"
"Or watching for
the monster bird of prey, rather," suggested the elder Gillespie. "Of
course they couldn’t distinguish our faces, and our bodies were fairly well
hidden. And, even more, of course, they must be totally ignorant of all such
things as flying-machines and the like."
"Poor, ignorant
devils!" sympathetically sighed the youngster. "Well, we’ll have to
do a little missionary work in this quarter, before taking our departure, eh,
uncle Phaeton?"
With a start,
Featherwit descended out of the clouds in which he had been lost ever since
winning a fair view of the secret city; and now, rallying his wits and fairly
aglow with eager interest in this marvellous discovery, he began pointing out
the various objects of special importance, naming them with glib assurance,
then reminding the boys how wonderfully similar all was to what had existed in
Old Mexico before the conquest.
Bruno listened with
greater interest than his brother could summon at will. For one thing, he had
long been a lover of the genial Prescott, and, now that his memory was
freshened in part, was able to closely follow the course of that little
lecture, noting each strong point made by the professor in bolstering up his
delightful theory.
That monologue,
however, was abruptly broken in upon by Waldo, who gave an eager exclamation,
as he reached forth a pointing finger:
"Look! There’s a
white woman yonder,--two of ’em, in fact!"
THAT announcement came
with all the force of a bolt from the blue, and even the professor dropped his
glasses with a gasp of amazement, while Bruno would have leaped to his feet,
only for the hasty grab which his brother made at the tail of his coat.
"White--where?
Surely it cannot be that--Edgecombe--"
"Augh, take a
tumble, boy!" ejaculated Waldo, giving a jerk that rendered compliance
nearly literal, though scarcely full of grace. "Want to have the whole
gang make a howling break this way? Want to-- They’re white all right,
though!"
"Where? Which
direction? Point them out, and--I fail to see anything which would bear out
your--"
The professor was
sweeping yonder field with his glass, searching for the primal cause of that
latest excitement, but without success. No sign of a white face, male or
female, rewarded his efforts, and he turned an inquiring gaze upon the
youngster.
Waldo was peering from
beneath the shade of his hand, but now drew back with a long breath, to slowly
shake his head.
"They’ve gone now,
but I did see them, and they were white, just as white as--as anything!"
Bruno frowned a bit at
that unsatisfactory conclusion, but the professor was of more equable temper,
for a wonder. He smilingly shook his head, while gazing kindly, then spoke:
"I myself might
have made the same error, Waldo, but you surely were in error, for once."
"What! You mean I
never saw those white women, uncle Phaeton?"
"No, no, I am not
so seriously faulting your eyesight, my dear boy," came the swift
assurance. "But even the best of us are open to errors, and there were in
olden times not a few Aztecs with fair skins; not exactly white, yet
comparatively fair when their race was considered. And, no doubt, Waldo, you
saw just such another a bit ago."
But the youngster was
not so easily shaken in his own opinion.
"There were a
couple of ’em, not just such another, uncle. And they were white,--pure white
as ever the Lord made a woman! And--why, didn’t I see their hair, long and
floating loose? And wasn’t that yellow as--as gold, or the sunshine
itself?"
"Yellow
hair?"
"Yes, indeedy!
Yellow hair, white skins,--faces, anyway. Blondes, the couple of ’em; and to
that I’ll make my davy!"
And so the youngster
maintained with even more than usual sturdiness, when questioned more closely,
pointing out the very spot upon which the strange beings were standing, the top
of a large, tall building, clearly one of the series of temples.
In vain the field-glass
was fixed upon that particular point. The partly roofed azotea was wholly
devoid of human life, and though watch was maintained in that direction for
many minutes thereafter, by one or other of the air-voyagers, naught was seen
to confirm the assertion made by the younger Gillespie.
For the moment that fact
or fancy dominated all other interests, for, granting that Waldo had not been
misled by a naturally fair Indian face, there was room for a truly startling
inference.
"Could it actually
be they?" muttered Bruno, face pale and eyes glittering with intense
interest. "Could they have escaped with life from the balloon, and been
here ever since?"
"You mean--"
"The wife and
child of Cooper Edgecombe,--yes! Who else could they be, unless--I’d give a
pretty penny for one fair squint at them, right now! If there was only some
method of-- It would hardly do to venture down yonder, uncle Phaeton?"
The professor gave a
stern gesture of denial, frowning as though he anticipated an actual break for
yonder town, in spite of the odds against them.
"That would be
madness, Bruno! Worse than madness, by far! Look at yonder warriors, all
thoroughly armed, and eager to drink blood as ever they were in centuries gone
by! They are hundreds, if not thousands, while we are but three! Madness, my
boy!"
"Four, with Mr. Edgecombe,
uncle."
"And that means a
complete host so long as we are backed up by the air-ship," declared
Waldo, in his turn. "Those fellows!" with a sniff of true boyish
scorn for aught that was not fully up to date. "What could they do, if we
were to open fire on them just once?"
"Prove our equals,
man for man, armed as they assuredly are," just as vigorously affirmed the
professor, inclined rather to magnify than diminish the importance of these,
his so recently discovered people. "You forget how the Aztecans fought
Cortez and his mailed hosts. Yet these are one and identical, so far as valour
and training and blood can go."
"Huh! Scared of a
runty horse so badly that they prayed to ’em as they did to their own
gods!" sniffed Waldo, betraying a lore for which he did not ordinarily
receive fair credit. "Why, uncle Phaeton, let you just slam one o’ those
dynamite shells inside a chief--"
"Nay, Waldo, must
I repeat, we are not here for the purpose of conquest, unless by purely
amicable methods. There must be no fighting, for or against. Savages though
most people would be inclined to pronounce yonder race, they are human, with
souls and--"
"But I always
thought they were heathens, uncle Phaeton?"
The professor subsided
at that, giving over as worse than useless the attempt to enlighten the
irrepressible youngster, at least for the time being.
Silence ruled for some
little time, during which each one of the trio kept keen watch over the valley,
the field-glass changing hands at intervals in order to put all upon an equal
footing.
One thing was clear
enough unto all: the Indians had been greatly wrought up by the brief
appearance of some queerly shaped monster of the air, and while a goodly number
of their best warriors had hastened out of the valley and up the difficult
passes, in hopes of learning more, still others were astir, weapons in hand,
evidently determined to defend their lives or their property from any assault,
should such be made, whether by known or foreign adversaries.
This busy stir and
bustle, combined with the novel architecture and so many varying points of
interest, would have been a mental and visual feast for the trio of
air-voyagers, only for that one doubt: were white captives actually in yonder
temple? And, if white, were they the long-lost relatives of the aeronaut,
Cooper Edgecombe?
Quite naturally the
interest displayed by the Indians centred in the quarter of the heavens where
that air-demon had been sighted, hence our friends saw very little cause for
apprehension on their own parts.
Thus they were given a
better opportunity for thinking of and then discussing the new marvel.
Again did Waldo vow
that his eyes had not befooled him. Again he positively asserted that he had
seen two white women, wearing blonde hair in loose waves far adown their backs.
And once again Bruno, in half-awed tones, wondered whether or no they were the
mother and child borne away upon the wings of a mighty storm, fifteen long
years gone by.
"It is possible,
though scarcely credible," admitted uncle Phaeton, in grave tones, as he
wrinkled his brows after his peculiar fashion when ill at ease in his mind.
"Edgecombe lived through just such another experience; though, to be sure,
he was a man of iron constitution, while they were far more delicate, as a
matter of course."
"Still, it may
have happened so?" persisted Bruno, taking a strong interest in the
matter. "You would not call it too far-fetched, uncle?"
"No. It may have
happened. I would rather call it marvellous, yet still possible. And if
so--"
"There is but a
single answer to that supposition, uncle; they must be rescued from
captivity!" forcibly declared Bruno.
"That’s
right," confirmed Waldo. "Of course all women and girls--I mean other
people’s kin--are a tremendous sight of bother and worry, and all that; but we’re
white, and so are they."
"We must rescue
them; there’s nothing else to do," again emphasised the elder Gillespie.
"That is no doubt
the proper caper, speaking from your boyish point of view, my generous-hearted
nephews; but--just how?" dryly queried the professor. "Have you
arranged all that, as well, Bruno?"
"You surely would
not abandon them, uncle Phaeton?" asked the young man, something abashed
by that veiled reproof. "To such a horrible fate, too?"
"A fate which they
must have endured for fifteen years, provided your theory is correct,
Bruno," with a fleeting smile. "Don’t mistake me, lads. I am ready
and willing to do all that a man of my powers may, provided I see just and
sufficient cause for taking decisive action. That is yet lacking. We are not
certain that there are white women yonder. Or, if white women, that they are
captives. Or, if captives, that they would thank us for aiding them to
escape."
"Why, uncle
Phaeton! Think of Mr. Edgecombe, and how--"
"I am thinking of
him, and I wish to think yet a little longer," quietly spoke the
professor. "keep a lookout, lads, and if you see aught of Waldo’s fair
women, pray notify me."
For the better part of
an hour comparative silence reigned, the boys feasting eyes upon yonder
spectacle, their uncle deeply in reverie; but then he roused up, his final
decision arrived at.
"I will do
it!" were his first words. "Yes, I will do it!"
"Do what, uncle
Phaeton?" asked Waldo, with poorly suppressed eagerness, as he turned
towards his relative.
"Go after Cooper
Edgecombe,--bringing him here in order that he may, sooner or later, solve this
perplexing enigma. Come, boys, we may as well start back towards the aerostat."
But both youngsters
objected in a decided manner, Waldo saying:
"No, no, uncle
Phaeton! Why should we go along? You’ll be coming right back, and will be less
crowded in the ship if we don’t go."
"And we can better
wait right here; don’t you see, uncle?"
"To keep the Lost
City safely found, don’t you know? What if it should take a sudden notion to
lose itself again?" added Waldo, innocently.
IN place of the
indulgent smile for which he was playing, Waldo received a frown, and directly
thereafter the professor spoke in tones which could by no possibility be
mistaken.
"Come with me,
both of you. I am going back to the aerostat, and I dare not leave you boys
behind. Come!"
Kind of heart and
generally complaisant though uncle Phaeton was, neither Bruno nor Waldo cared
to cross his will when made known in such tones, and without further
remonstrance they followed his lead, slipping away from the snug little
observatory without drawing attention to themselves from any of yonder busy
horde.
Not until the trio was
fairly within the gulch did the professor speak again, and then but a brief
sentence or two.
"Give me time to
weigh the matter, lads. Possibly I may agree, but don’t try to hurry my cooler
judgment, please."
Waldo gave his brother
an eager nudge at this, gestures and grimaces being made to supply the lack of
words. But when, the better to express his confidence that all was coming their
way, the youngster attempted a caper of delight, his foot slipped from a
leaf-hidden stone, and he took an awkward tumble at full length.
"Never touched
me!" he cried, scrambling to his feet ere a hand could come to his aid.
"Who says I don’t know how to stand on both ends at the same time?"
Barring this little
caper, naught took place on their way to the air-ship; and once there, the
professor heaved a mighty sigh, wiping his heated face as one might who has
just won a worthy race. But he betrayed no especial haste in setting the
flying-machine afloat and Waldo finally ventured:
"Can we help you
off, uncle Phaeton?"
But he was assured
there existed no necessity for such great haste.
"In fact, it might
be dangerous to start while so many of the Aztecs are upon the lookout,"
came the unexpected addition. "I believe it would be vastly better not to
leave here until shortly before dawn, to-morrow."
It took but a few words
further to convince the brothers that this idea was wisest, and while the young
fellows felt sorry to have their view cut so short, neither ventured to
actually rebel.
After all, the day was
well-nigh spent, and, besides preparing their evening meal, it was essential
that their plans for the immediate future should be shaped as thoroughly as
possible.
Professor Featherwit
had resolved to fetch Cooper Edgecombe to the scene of interest, in order to
give him at least a fair chance to solve the enigma which was perplexing them
all. Even so, he felt that no small degree of physical danger would attend that
presence, particularly if it should really prove, as they could but suspect,
that both wife and daughter of the involuntary exile were yonder, among the
Aztecans.
Much of this the
professor made known to his nephews during that evening, the trio thoroughly
discussing the matter in all its bearings, but before the air-ship was prepared
for the night’s rest, uncle Phaeton made the youngsters happy by consenting to
their remaining behind as guardians to the Lost City, while he went in quest of
the balloonist.
"But bear ever in
mind the conditions, lads," was his earnest conclusion. "I place you
upon your honour to take all possible precautions against being discovered, or
even running the least unnecessary risk during my absence."
"Don’t let that
bother you, uncle Phaeton," Waldo hastened to give assurance. "We’ll
be wise as pigeons, and cautious as any old snake you ever caught up a tree;
eh, Bruno, old man?"
"We promise all
you ask, uncle, but does that mean we must stay right here, without even
stealing a weenty peep at the Lost City?"
Professor Featherwit
felt sorely tempted to say yes, but then, knowing boyish nature (although Bruno
had just passed his majority, while Waldo was "turned seventeen") so
well, he feared to draw the reins too tightly lest they give way entirely.
"No; I do not
expect quite that much, my lads; but I do count on your taking no unnecessary
risks, and in case of discovery that you rather trust to flight, and my finding
you later on, than to actually fighting."
So it was decided, and
at a fairly early hour the trio lay down to sleep. Although so unusually
excited by the marvellous discoveries of the day just spent, their open-air life
tended to calm their brains, and, far sooner than might have been expected,
sleep crept over them, one and all, lasting until nearly dawn.
Perhaps it was just as
well that the wakening was not more early, for the professor was beginning to
regret his weakness of the past evening, and had there been more time for
drawing lugubrious pictures of probable mishaps, he might even yet have
insisted on taking the youngsters with him.
Knowing that it was
rather more than probable some of the Indians would be stationed upon the hills
to watch for the queerly shaped air-demon, the professor felt obliged to lose
no further time, and so the separation was effected, just as the eastern sky
was beginning to show streaks and veins of a new day.
"Touch and
go!" cried Waldo, with a vast inhalation as he watched the aeromotor sail
away with the swiftness of a bird on wing. "And for a weenty bit I
reckoned ’twas you and me as part of the go, too!"
In company the lads
enjoyed a more leisurely meal than their relative had dared wait for, knowing
that, at the very least, they would have the whole of that day to themselves,
so far as uncle Phaeton was concerned. As a matter of course, he would not
attempt to return except under cover of night, or in the early dawn of another
day.
All that had been
thoroughly discussed and provided for the evening before, and was barely
touched upon by the brothers now. Their first and most natural thought was of
yonder Lost City, with its inhabitants, red, white, and yellow, as Waldo put
it; but being still under the foreboding fears of the professor, they finally
agreed to remain where he left them until after the sun crossed its meridian.
It was a rather early
meal which the brothers prepared, if the whole truth must be told; and the last
fragments were bolted rather than chewed, feet keeping time with jaws, as they
hastened towards the observatory.
There was pretty much
the same sort of view as on the day before, the main difference being that many
of the Indians were labouring in the fields, instead of watching for the
air-demon.
Using the glass by
turns, the lads kept eager watch for the white women whom Waldo stubbornly
persisted were within the town; but hour after hour passed without the desired
reward, and Bruno began to doubt whether there was any such vision to be won.
"The sun was in
your eyes, and you let mad fancy run away with your better judgment, boy,"
he decided, at length. "If not, why--what now?"
For Waldo gave a low,
eager exclamation, gripping the field-glass as though he would crush in the
reinforced leather case. A few moments thus, then he laughed in almost fierce
glee, thrusting the glass towards his brother, speaking excitedly:
"A crazy fool
lunatic, am I? Well, now, you just take a squint at the old house for yourself
and see if--biting you, now, is it?"
For Bruno showed even
more intense interest as he caught the right line, there taking note of--yes,
they surely were white women! Faces, hair, all went to proclaim that fact. And
more than that, even.
"Fair--lovely as a
painter’s dream!" almost painfully breathed the elder Gillespie. "I
never saw such a lovely--"
"Injun squaw, of
course. Couple of ’em. Nobody but a fool would ever think different. The idea
of finding white women--"
"They are ladies,
Waldo! I never saw such--and I feel that they must be the ones lost by poor
Edgecombe when that storm--"
"That’s all right
enough, old fellow," interrupted Waldo, claiming the glass once more.
"No need of your playing the porker on legs, though, as I see. Give
another fellow a chance to squint. But aren’t they regular jo-dandies, though,
for a fact?"
The two women in
question, clad in flowing robes of white, lit up here and there by a dash of
colour, were slowly pacing to and fro upon the temple where first discovered by
the keen-eyed youngster. Thanks to the excellent glass, it was possible to view
them clearly in spite of the distance, and there could be no dispute upon that
one point: both mother and daughter (granting that such was their relationship)
were more than ordinarily fair and comely of both face and person.
For the better part of
an hour that slow promenade lasted, and until the women finally passed beyond
their range of vision, the brothers took eager and copious notes. Then, in
spite of the fact that scores of other figures still came within their field of
vision, curiosity lagged.
"It’s like
watching a street medicine show, after hearing Patti or seeing Irving,"
muttered Bruno, drawing back and stretching his wearied limbs beyond possible
discovery.
"Or the A B C
class playing two-old-cat, after a league game of extra innings; right you are,
my hearty!" coincided Waldo, feeling pretty much the same way, "only
with a difference."
Shortly after this,
Bruno suggested a retreat to the rendezvous, and for a wonder his brother
agreed without amendment.
The brothers passed
down to the gulch, which formed the easiest route to their refuge, saying very
little, and that in lowered tones. The confirmation so recently won served to
stir their hearts deeply, and neither boy could as yet see a way out of the
labyrinth that discovery most assuredly opened up before them.
"Of course we can’t
leave them there to drag on such a wretched existence," declared Bruno.
"We couldn’t do that, even though we learned they held no relationship to
Mr. Edgecombe. But--how?"
"I reckon it’s--what?"
abruptly spoke Waldo, gripping an arm and stopping short for a few seconds, but
then impulsively springing onward again as wild sounds arose from no great
distance.
A score of seconds
later they caught sight of a huge grizzly bear in the act of falling upon a
slender stripling, whose bronze hue as surely proclaimed one of the Aztec
children from yonder Lost City.
What was to be done?
Disobey their uncle, or leave this lad to perish?
ONLY a lad,
slight-limbed and slenderly framed to the eye, yet for all that gifted with a
gallant heart, else he surely must have been cowed to terror by the huge bulk
of such a dire adversary at close quarters.
Instead of trying to
find safety in headlong flight, the Indian stood at bay, with both hands firmly
gripping the shaft of his copper-bladed spear, at far too close quarters for
employing bow and arrows, while the copper knife in his sash was held in
reserve for still closer work.
Snarling, growling,
displaying its great teeth while clumsily waving enormous paws which bore
talons of more than a finger-length, the bear was balanced upon its
hindquarters, evidently just ready to lurch forward with striking paws and
gnashing teeth.
Its enormous weight
would prove more than sufficient to end the contest ere it fairly began, while
a slight stroke from those taloned paws would both slay and mutilate.
No one was better aware
of all this than the Indian lad himself, yet he took the initiative, swiftly
darting his spear forward, lending to its keen point all the power of both arms
and body. A suicidal act it certainly appeared, yet one which could scarcely
make his position more perilous.
An awful roar burst
from bruin as he felt that thrust, the blade sinking deep and biting shrewdly;
but then he plunged forward, striking savagely as he dropped.
The Indian strove to
leap backward an instant after delivering his stroke, but still clung to the
spear-shaft. This hampered his action to a certain degree, yet in all
probability that stout ashen shaft preserved his life, which that wound would
otherwise have forfeited.
The stroke but brushed
a shoulder, nor did a claw take fair effect, yet the stripling was felled to
earth as though smitten by a thunderbolt.
All this before the
brothers could solve the enigma thus offered them so unexpectedly; but that
fall, and the awful rage displayed by the wounded grizzly as he briefly reared
erect to grind asunder the spearshaft, decided the white lads, and, temporarily
forgetting how dangerously nigh were yonder Aztecan hosts, both Bruno and Waldo
opened fire with their Winchester rifles, sending shot after shot in swift
succession into the bulky brute, fairly beating him backward under their storm
of lead.
Victory came right
speedily, but its finale was thrilling, if not fatal, the huge beast toppling
forward to drop heavily upon the young savage, just as he was recovering
sufficiently from shock and surprise to begin a struggle for his footing.
Firing another couple
of shots while rifle-muzzle almost touched an ear, the brothers quickly turned
attention towards the fallen Indian, more than half believing him a corpse,
crushed out of shape upon the underlying rocks by that enormous carcass.
Fortunately for all
concerned, the young Aztec was lying in a natural depression between two firm
rocks, and while his extrication proved to be a matter of both time and
difficulty, saying nothing of main strength, success finally rewarded the
efforts of our young Samaritans.
The grizzly was
stone-dead. The Indian seemed but a trifle better, though that came through
compression rather than any actual wounds from tooth or talon. And the brothers
themselves were fairly dismayed.
Not until that rescue
was finally accomplished did either lad give thought to what might follow; but
now they drew back a bit, interchanging looks of puzzled doubt and worry.
"Right in it, up
to our necks, old man! And we can’t very well kill the critter, can we?"
"Of course not;
but it may cause us sore trouble if--"
Just then the young
Aztec rallied sufficiently to move, drawing a step nearer the brothers, right
hand coming out in greeting, while left palm was pressed close above his heart.
And--still greater marvel!
"Much obliged--me,
you, brother!"
If yonder bleeding
grizzly had risen erect and made just such a salutation as this, it could
scarcely have caused greater surprise to either Bruno or Waldo, looking upon
this being, as they quite naturally did, in the light of a genuine
"heathen," hence incapable of speaking any known tongue, much less
the glorious Americanese.
True, there was a
certain odd accent, a curious dwelling upon each syllable, but the words
themselves were distinctly pronounced and beyond misapprehension.
"Why, I took you
for a howling Injun!" fairly exploded Waldo, then stepping forward to
clasp the proffered member, giving it a regular "pump-handle shake"
by way of emphasis. "And here you are, slinging the pure United States
around just as though it didn’t cost a cent, and you held a mortgage on the
whole dictionary! Why, I can’t--well, well, now!"
For once in a way the
glib-tongued lad was at a loss just what to say and how to say it. For, after
all, this surely was a redskin, and the professor had explicitly warned them
against--oh, dear!
Was it all a dizzy
dream? For the Aztec drew back, speaking rapidly in an unknown tongue, then
sinking to earth like one overpowered by sudden physical weakness.
Bruno Gillespie, too,
was recalling his uncle’s earnest cautions, and now took prompt action. He
quickly secured the weapons which had been scattered as the Indian fell before
the grizzly’s paw, then the brothers drew a little apart to consult together.
"What’ll we do
about it?" whisperingly demanded Waldo, keeping a wary eye upon yonder
redskin. "You tell, for blamed if I know how!"
"We daren’t let
him go free, else he might fetch the whole tribe upon our track," said
Bruno, in the same low tones, no whit less sorely perplexed as to their wisest
course.
"No, and yet we
can’t very well kill him, either! If we hadn’t come along just as we did, or
if--but he’s a man, after all! Who could stand by and see that ugly brute make
a meal off even an Injun?"
Bruno cast an uneasy
look around, at the same time deftly refilling the partly exhausted magazine of
his Winchester.
"Load up, Waldo.
Burning powder reaches mighty far, even here in the hills; and who knows,-- the
whole tribe may come helter-skelter this way, to see what has broken loose! And
we can’t fight ’em all!"
"Not unless we
just have to," agreed the younger Gillespie, placing a few shells where
they would be handiest in case of another emergency. "But what’s the use
of running, if we’re to leave this fellow behind to blaze our trail? If he is
our enemy--"
"No en’my; Ixtli
friend,--heart-brother," eagerly vowed the young Aztec, once again
startling the lads by his strange command of a foreign tongue.
He rose to his feet,
though plainly suffering in some slight degree from that brief collision with
the huge beast, and smiling frankly into first one face, then the other, took
Bruno’s hand, touched it with his lips, then bowed his head and placed the
whiter palm upon his now uncovered crown.
In like manner he
saluted Waldo, after which he drew back a bit, still smiling genially, to add,
in slowly spoken words:
"You save Ixtli.
Bear kill--no; you kill--yes! Ixtli glad. Sun Children great--big heart full of
love. So--Ixtli never do hurt, never do wrong; die for white brother--so!"
More through
gesticulation than by speech, the young Indian brave made his sentiments
clearly understood, and if they could have placed full dependence in that
pledge, the brothers would have felt vastly relieved in mind.
But they only too
clearly recalled numerous instances of cunning ill-faith, and, in despite of
all, they could not well avoid thinking that this was really something like a
white elephant thrown upon their hands.
"All right. Play
we swallow it all, but keep your best eye peeled, old man," guardedly
whispered Waldo. "Fetch him along, yes or no, for it may be growing worse
than dangerous right here, after so much shooting."
"You mean for us
to--"
"Take the fellow
along, and keep him with us, until uncle Phaeton comes back to finally decide
upon his case," promptly explained Waldo. "Of course we ought to’ve
let him die; ought, but didn’t! We couldn’t then, wouldn’t now, if it was all
to do over. So watch him so closely that he can’t play tricks even if he
wishes."
There was nothing
better to propose, and though the job promised to be an awkward one to manage,
Ixtli himself rendered it more easy.
Past all doubt he could
understand, as well as speak, the English language, for he took a step in
evident submission, speaking gently:
"Ixtli ready;
heart-brother say where go, now."
Again the brothers felt
startled by that quaintly correct accent, and almost involuntarily Bruno spoke
in turn:
"You can talk
English? When did you learn? And from whom?"
A still brighter smile
irradiated the Aztec’s face, and turning his eyes towards the secluded valley,
he bowed his head as though in deep reverence, then softly, lovingly, almost
adoringly, responded:
"She tell me how.
Victo,--Glady, too. Ixtli know little, not much; his heart feel big for Sun
Children, all time. So you, too, for kill bear,--like dat!"
Bruno turned a bit
paler than usual, catching his breath sharply, as he repeated those names:
"Victo,--Glady,--
Wasn’t it by those names, Victoria, Gladys, that Mr. Edgecombe called his lost
ones, Waldo?"
"I can’t remember;
but get a move on, old man. The sooner we’re back where uncle Phaeton left us,
where we can see a bit more of what may be coming, the safer my precious scalp
will feel. This Injun--"
"No scalp,"
quickly interposed the Aztec, with a deprecatory gesture to match his words.
"You save Ixtli. Ixtli say no hurt white brothers. Dat so,--dat sure for
truth!"
Only partially
satisfied by this earnest disclaimer of evil intentions, Waldo gripped an arm
and hurried the Aztec along, leaving the bear where it had fallen, intent
solely upon reaching a comparatively safe outlook ere worse could follow upon
the heels of their latest adventure.
And Bruno brought up
the rear as guard, eyes and rifle ready.
NO difficulty whatever
was experienced in reaching that retreat, and milder prisoner never knew a
guard than Ixtli proved himself to be, silently yielding to each impulse lent
his arm by Waldo, smiling when, as sometimes happened, he was brought more nearly
face to face with that armed rear-guard.
Nor were the Gillespie
brothers worried by sound, sign, or token of more serious trouble from others
of that strangely surviving race. And it was not long after reaching the
rendezvous from which the professor had sailed in the early dawn, that the
youngsters agreed the echoes of their Winchesters could not have reached the
ears of the Lost City inhabitants.
"That’s plenty
good luck for one soup-bunch," quoth Waldo, yet adding a dubious shake of
the head as he gazed upon their bronzed companion. "And if it wasn’t for
this gentleman in masquerade costume--"
"Ixtli friend.
Ixtli feel like heart-brother," came in low, mellow accents from those
smiling lips.
There certainly was
naught of guile or of evil craft to be read in either eyes or visage, just
then; but the brothers could not feel entirely at ease, even yet. How many
times had warriors of his colour played a cunning part, only to end all by blow
of tomahawk, thrust of knife, or bolt from the bended bow?
At a barely perceptible
sign from Bruno, his brother drew apart, leaving their "white
elephant" by himself, yet none the less under a vigilant guard.
"He seems all
right, in his way," muttered the elder Gillespie, "but how far ought
we to trust him, after what we promised uncle Phaeton?"
"Not quite as far
as we can see him, anyway. Still, a fellow can’t find the stomach to bowl him
over like a hare,--without a weenty bit of excuse, at least."
"That’s it! If he’d
try to bolt, or would even jump on one of us, it would come far more easy. Look
at him smile, now! And I hate to think of clapping such a bright-seeming lad in
bonds!"
"Time enough for
all that when he shows us cause," quickly decided Waldo, with a vigorous
nod of his curly pow. "Pity if a couple of us can’t keep him out of
mischief without going that far. And we want to pump the kid dry before uncle
Phaeton gets back; understand?"
Bruno gave a slight
start at these words, but his eye-glow and face-flush bore witness that the
idea thus suggested had not been unthought of in his own case.
"Then you really
think--"
"That there’s more
ways than one of skinning a cat," oracularly observed Waldo. "Without
showing it too mighty plainly, one or the other of us can always be ready and
prepared to dump the laddy-buck, in case he tries to come any of his didoes.
And, at the same time, we can be hugging up to him just as sweetly as though we
knew he was on the dead level. Understand?"
Possibly the programme
might have been a little more elegantly expressed, but Waldo, as a rule, cared
more for substance than form, and his speech possessed one merit, that of
perspicuity.
Having reached this
fair understanding, the brothers dropped their aside, and moved nearer the
young Aztec.
Ixtli gazed keenly into
first one face, then the other, plainly enough endeavouring to read the truth
as might be expressed therein, as related to himself. What he saw must have
proved fairly satisfactory, since he gave another bright smile, then spoke in
really musical tones:
"Good,--brother,
now! That more good, too!"
In spite of the
suspicions, which seem inborn where people of the red race are concerned, both
Bruno and Waldo felt more and more drawn towards this remarkable specimen of a
still more remarkable tribe; and not many more minutes had sped by ere the
younger couple were chatting together in amicable fashion, although finding
some little difficulty in Ixtli’s rather limited vocabulary.
Not a little to his
elder brother’s impatience, Waldo apparently took a deeper interest in the
recent adventure than in the subject which claimed his own busiest thoughts,
but he hardly cared to crowd the youngster, lest he make matters even worse.
Aided by the sort of
freemasonry which naturally exists between lads of an adventurous nature, Waldo
readily succeeded in picking up considerable information from the Aztec, even
before broaching that all-important matter.
Ixtli was the only son
of a famed warrior and chieftain of the Aztecan clans, by name Aztotl, or the
Red Heron. He, in common with so many of his people, had witnessed the approach
and abrupt departure of the strange bird in the air, and had hastened forth in
quest of the monster.
He failed to see aught
more of the strange creature, but, disliking to return home without something
to show for the trip, remained out over night, then chanced to fairly stumble
into the way of a mighty grizzly.
There were a few
moments during which he might possibly have escaped through headlong flight,
but he was too proud for that, and but for the timely arrival and prompt action
on the part of his white brothers would almost certainly have paid the penalty
with his life.
Then followed more
thanks and broken expressions of gratitude, all of which Waldo magnanimously
waved aside as wholly unnecessary.
"Don’t work up a
sweat for a little thing like that, old man. Of course we saw you were an Injun
and--ahem! I mean, how in time did you happen to catch hold of our lingo so
mighty pat, laddy-buck?"
"My brother means
to ask who taught you to speak as we do, Ixtli?" amended Bruno, catching
at the wished-for opportunity now it offered.
"And who was that
nice little gal with the yellow hair? Is she--what did you call her? Gladys
And the rest of it
Edgecombe?"
Waldo was eager enough
now that the ice was fairly broken, but his very volubility served to
complicate matters rather than to hasten the desired information.
Ixtli apparently
thought in English pretty much as he spoke it,--slowly, and with care. When hurried,
his brain and tongue naturally fell back upon his native language.
Sounds issued through
his lips, but, despite all their animation, these proved to be but empty sounds
to the eager brothers. And, divining the truth, Bruno checked his brother, himself
acting as questioner, pretty soon striking the right chord, after which Ixtli
fared very well.
Still, thanks to his
difficulty in finding the right words with which to express his full meaning,
it took both time and patience for even Bruno to learn all he desired; and even
if such a course would be desirable, lack of space forbids giving a literal
record of questions and answers, since the general result of that
cross-examination may be put so much more compactly before the generous reader.
The first point made
clear was that the young Aztec owed his imperfect knowledge of the English
language to certain Children of the Sun, whom he named as if christened Victo
and Glady. With this as starting-point, the rest formed a mere question of time
and perseverance.
Growing in animation as
he proceeded, Ixtli told of the coming to their city of those glorious
children; riding upon the wings of an awful storm, yet issuing unharmed,
unawed, bright of face, as the mighty orb the sons of Anahuac worshipped.
He told how an envious
few held to the contrary: that these fair-skins had come as evil emissaries
from the still more evil Mictlanteuctli, mighty Lord of Death-land, who had
laden them with pestilence and brain-sorrow and eye-darkness, with orders to
devastate this, the last fair city of the ancient race.
With low, sternly
suppressed tones, the young warrior went on to tell of what followed: of the
wicked attempt made by those malcontents to punish the bearers of death and
misery; then, his voice rising and growing more clear, he told how, from a
clearing-sky, there came a single shaft flung by the mighty hand of the great
god, Quetzalcoatl, before which the impious dog went down in everlasting death.
"Struck by
lightning, eh?" interpreted Waldo, who seemed born without the influence
of poetry. "Served him mighty right, too!"
Bowing submissively,
although it could be seen he scarcely comprehended just what those blunt words
were meant to convey, Ixtli spoke on, seemingly with perfect willingness, so
long as the adored "Sun Children" formed the subject-matter.
From his laboured
statement, Bruno gathered that the sudden death of one who had dared to lift an
armed hand against the woman so mysteriously placed there in their very midst
awed all opposition to the general belief in the divine origin of mother and
child; and ere long Victo was installed as a sort of high priestess of the
temple more especially devoted to the Sun God.
That was long ago, and
when Ixtli was but a child. As he grew older, and his father? Red Heron, was
appointed as chief of guards to the Sun Children, Victo took more notice of the
lad, and ended in teaching him both the English tongue and its Christian creed,
so far as lay in his power to comprehend.
Then came less pleasing
information concerning the Children of the Sun, which went far to prove that
the death of one evil-minded dog had not entirely purged the Lost City, and it
was with harsher tones and frowning brows that Ixtli spoke of the head priest,
or paba, Tlacopa the evil-minded, who had built up a powerful and dangerous
sentiment against both Victo and Glady, even going so far as to declare before
the holy stone of sacrifice that the Mother of Gods demanded these falsely
titled Children of the Sun.
"The fair-faced
God must come soon, or too late!" sighed the Aztec, bowing his head in
joined palms the better to conceal his evident grief. "He has promised to
come, but hurry! They die--they die!"
This was hardly an
acceptable stopping-point, but questioning was of little avail just then.
Satisfied of so much, the brothers drew apart a short distance, yet keeping
where they could guard their more or less dangerous charge, conversing in low
tones over the information so far gleaned from the Aztec’s talk.
"Well, we’ll hold
a tight grip on him, anyway, until uncle Phaeton gets back," finally
decided Waldo, speaking for his brother as well.
FORTUNATELY for all
concerned, there proved to be no serious difficulty attached to that same holding.
So far as outward semblance went, Ixtli was very well content with both present
quarters and present companionship.
He likewise enjoyed the
supper that, aided by a small fire kindled in a depression so low that the
light could by no means attract any unfriendly eye, Bruno prepared for them
all. And just prior to taking his first taste, the young warrior bowed his head
to murmur a few sentences which, past all doubt, had first come to his mind
through the wonderful Victo: a simple little blessing, which certainly did not
add to the dislike or uneasiness with which the brothers regarded their guest.
"He’s white, even
if he is red!" confidentially declared Waldo, at his first opportunity.
"More danger of our spoiling him than his doing us dirt; and that’s an
honest fact for a quarter, old man!"
Bruno felt pretty much
the same, yet his added years gave him greater discretion, and, in spite of
that growing liking, he kept a fairly keen watch and ward over the Aztec.
After supper there came
further questioning and answers, Waldo as a rule playing inquisitor, eager to
learn more anent the strange existence which these people must live, so
completely hemmed in from all the rest of the world as they surely were in
yonder valley.
Without at all betraying
the exile, Gillespie spoke of the lake and its mighty whirlpool, then learned
that the Indians really made semi-annual trips thither for the purpose of
laying in a supply of dried fish for the winter’s consumption.
As the night waned,
preparations were made for sleeping, although it was agreed between the
brothers that one or the other should stand guard in regular order.
"Not that I really
believe the fellow would play us dirt, even with every chance laid open,"
Waldo admitted. "Still, it’s what uncle Phaeton would advise, and we can’t
well do less than follow his will, Bruno."
"Since we broke it
so completely by tackling the grizzly," with a brief laugh.
"That’s all right,
too. Of course we’d ought to’ve skulked away like a couple of egg-sucking curs,
but we didn’t, and I’m mightily glad of it, too. For Ixtli--what a name that is
to go to bed with every night, though!--for Ixtli is just about as white as
they make ’em, nowadays; you hear me blow my bazoo?"
And so the long night
wore its length along, the brothers taking turns at keeping watch and ward, but
the Aztec slumbering peacefully through all, looking the least dangerous of all
possible captives. And after this light even the cautious Bruno began to regard
him ere the first stroke of coming dawn could be seen above the eastern hills.
Not being positive just
where the air-ship would put in an appearance, since Professor Featherwit had,
perforce, left that question open, to be decided by circumstances over which he
might have no control, each guard in turn devoted considerable attention to the
upper regions, hoping to glimpse the aerostat, and holding matches in readiness
to raise a flare by way of alighting signal. But it was not until the early dawn
that Bruno caught sight of the air-ship, just skimming the tree-tops, the
better to escape observation by any Indian lookout.
After that the rest
came easily enough. A couple of blazing matches held aloft proved sufficient
cue to the professor, and soon thereafter the flying-machine was safely brought
to land, so gently that the slumbers of the young Aztec were undisturbed.
Bruno gave a hasty word
of warning and explanation combined, even before he extended a welcoming hand
towards Mr. Edgecombe, who certainly appeared all the better for his encounter
with people of his own race.
Professor Featherwit
took a keen, eager look at the slumbering redskin, then drew silently back, to
whisper in Bruno’s ear:
"Guard well your
tongue, lad. I have told him nothing, as yet, and we must consult together
before breaking the news. For now we have had no rest, so I believe we would
better lie down for an hour or two."
Mr. Edgecombe appeared
to be perfectly willing to do this, and soon the wearied men were wrapped in
blankets and sleeping peacefully.
Long before their lids
unclosed, Bruno had an appetising meal in readiness, although the others had
broken fast long before, and Ixtli, his hands tightly clasped behind his back,
as a child is wont to resist temptation, was inspecting the air-ship in awed
silence.
Taking advantage of
this preoccupation, Bruno quickly yet clearly explained to his uncle all that
had happened, showing that by playing a more prudent part the young warrior
must inevitably have perished.
Then, making sure
Cooper Edgecombe was not near enough to catch his words, Bruno told in brief
the information gleaned from Ixtli concerning the Children of the Sun, whom he
and Waldo more than suspected must be the long-lost wife and daughter of the
exiled aeronaut.
As might have been
expected, Professor Featherwit was deeply stirred by all this, fidgeting
nervously while keeping alert ears, with difficulty smothering the ejaculations
which fought for exit through his lips.
After satisfying his craving
for food, the professor led the young Aztec apart from the rest of the party,
speaking kindly and sympathetically until he had won a fair share of liking for
his own, then broaching the subject of the Sun Children.
After this it was by no
means a difficult matter to get at the seat of trouble, and little by little
Featherwit satisfied himself that Ixtli would do all, dare all, for the sake of
benefiting the woman and maiden who had treated him so kindly.
At a covert sign from
the professor, Bruno came to join in the talk, and his sympathy made the young
Aztec even more communicative. And Ixtli spoke more at length concerning
Tlacopa, the paba, and another enemy whom the Children of the Sun had nearly
equal cause to fear, one Huatzin, or Prince Hua, chiefest among the mighty
warriors of the Aztecan clans.
This evil prince had
for years past sought Victo for his bride, while his son, Iocetl, tried in vain
to win the heart-smiles of the fair Glady, Victo’s daughter. And, through
revenge for having their suit frowned upon, these wicked knaves had joined
hands with the priest in trying to drag the Sun Children down from their lofty
pedestal.
It did not take long
questioning, or shrewd, to convince the professor that in Ixtli they could
count upon a true and daring supporter in case they should conclude to
interfere in behalf of his patroness and teacher, adored Victo.
The professor led the
way over to the air-ship, there producing the clothing and arms once worn by
another Aztec warrior, which he had carefully stowed away in the locker, loath
to lose sight of such valuable relics; truly unique, as he assured himself at
the moment.
Bruno gave a little
exclamation at sight of the articles, then in eager tones he made known the
daring idea which then flashed across his busy brain.
"We ought to make
sure before taking action, uncle Phaeton. Then why not let me don these clothes
and steal down into the valley, under cover of darkness, to see the ladies
and--"
"No, no, my
lad," quickly interrupted the professor, gripping an arm as though fearful
of an instant runaway. "That would be too risky; that would be almost
suicidal! And--no use talking," with an obstinate shake of his head, as
Bruno attempted to edge in an expostulation. "I will never give my consent;
never!"
"Or hardly
ever," supplied Waldo, coming that way like one who feels the proprieties
have been more than sufficiently outraged. "Give some other person a
chance to wag his chin a bit, can’t ye, gentlemen? Not that I care to chatter
merely for sake of hearing my own voice; but--eh?"
"We were
considering whether or no ’twould be advisable to take a walk over to the
observatory," coolly explained the professor. "Of course, if you
would rather remain here to watch the aerostat--"
"Let Bruno do
that, uncle. He grew thoroughly disgusted with what he saw over yonder,
yesterday," placidly observed the youngster.
"Waldo, you
villain!"
"Well, didn’t you
vow and declare that you could recognise grace and beauty and all other
varieties of attractiveness only in--dark brunettes, old man?"
Professor Featherwit
hastily interposed, lest words be let fall through which Mr. Edgecombe might
catch a premature idea of the possible surprise held in store; and shortly
afterwards the start was made for the snug covert from whence the Lost City had
been viewed on prior occasions.
Naturally their route
led them directly past the scene of the bear fight, where the huge carcass lay
as yet undisturbed, and calling forth sundry words of wonder and even admiration,
through its very ponderosity and now harmless ferocity.
Professor Featherwit
deemed it his duty to gravely reprove his wards for their rash conduct, yet
something in his twinkling eyes and in the kindly touch of his bony hand told a
far different tale. His anger took the shape of pride and of heart-love.
In due course of time
the lookout was won, and without delay the savant turned his field-glass upon
the temple which appeared to appertain to the so-called Sun Children; but, not
a little to his chagrin, the azotea was utterly devoid of human life.
But that disappointment
was of brief existence, for, almost as though his action was the signal for
which they had been waiting, mother and daughter came slowly into view, arm in
arm, clad in robes of snowy white, with their luxuriant locks flowing loose as
upon former occasions.
Both lads--three of
them, to be more exact--gave low exclamations of eager interest as those shapes
came in sight, while even Cooper Edgecombe gazed with growing interest upon the
scene, wholly unsuspecting though he was as yet.
A slight nod from the
professor warned the brothers to stand ready in case of need, then he offered
the exile the glass, begging him to inspect yonder fair women upon the
teocalli.
The glass was levelled
and held firmly for a half minute, then the exile gave a choking cry, gasping,
ere he fell as one smitten by death:
"Merciful heavens!
My wife--my child!"
IN good measure
prepared for some such result, in case their expectations should prove true,
friendly hands at once closed upon the exile, hurrying him back, and still more
completely under cover, as quickly as might be.
Cooper Edgecombe seemed
as wax in their hands, not utterly deprived of consciousness, but rather like
one dazed by some totally unexpected blow. He made not the slightest
resistance, yielding to each impulse given, shivering and weak as one just
rallying from an almost mortal illness.
Yet there came an
occasional flash to his eyes which warned the wary professor of impending
trouble, and as quickly as might be the stunned aeronaut was removed from the
point of observation, taken by short stages back to the spot where rested the
flying-machine.
Ixtli seemed something
awed by this (to him) inexplicable conduct on the part of the gaunt-limbed stranger,
but gave his new-found friends neither trouble nor cause for worry, bearing
them company and even lending a hand whenever he thought it might be needed.
The Gillespie brothers
were far more deeply stirred, as was natural, but even Waldo contrived to keep
a fair guard over his at times unruly member, speaking but little during that
retreat.
With each minute that
elapsed Cooper Edgecombe gained in bodily powers, and while his mental strength
was slower to respond, that proved to be a blessing rather than otherwise.
The rendezvous was
barely gained ere he gave a hoarse cry of reviving memory, then strove to break
away from that friendly care, calling wildly for his wife, his daughter,
fancying them in some dire peril from which alone his arms could preserve them.
It was a painful scene
as well as a trying one, that which followed closely, and respite only came
after bonds had been applied to the limbs of the madman,--for such Cooper
Edgecombe assuredly was, just then.
There were tears in the
professor’s eyes, as he strove hardest to soothe the sufferer, assuring him
that his loved ones should be restored to his arms, yet repeatedly reminding
him that any rash action taken then must almost certainly work against their
better interests.
The exile grew less
violent, but that was more through physical exhaustion than aught else, and
what had, from the very first, appeared a difficult enigma, now looked far
worse.
Only when fairly well
assured that the sufferer would not attract unwelcome attention their way
through too boisterous shouting, did the professor draw far enough away for
quiet consultation with his nephews.
Mr. Edgecombe was
deposited within the air-ship, secured in such a manner that it would be
well-nigh impossible for him to do either himself or the machine material
injury, no matter how violent he might become; and hence, in case of threatened
trouble from the inmates of the Lost City, flight would not be seriously
hindered through caring for him.
Professor Featherwit
now gleaned from his nephews pretty much all they could tell him concerning
sights and events since his departure in quest of the exile. That proved to be
very little more than he had already learned, and contained still less which
seemed of especial benefit to that particular enigma awaiting solution.
True, Waldo suggested
that Ixtli be employed as a medium of communication between the Sun Children
and themselves; but, possibly because, as a rule, this irrepressible youngster’s
ideas were generally the wildest and most far-fetched imaginable, uncle Phaeton
frowned upon the plan.
No; the young Aztec
might prove true at heart, even as indications went, but the risk of so
trusting him would prove far too great.
"That’s just
because you haven’t known and slept with him, like we have," declared
Waldo. "He’s red on the outside, but he’s got just as white a soul as the
best of us,--bar none."
Bruno likewise appeared
to think well of the young brave, and suggested an amendment to Waldo’s
motion,--that he accompany Ixtli into the sunken valley, covered by the
friendly shades of night, there to open communication with the Sun Children.
"By so doing, we
could make certain of their identity," the young man argued, earnestly.
"That, it appears to me, is the first step to be taken. For, in spite of
the apparent recognition by Mr. Edgecombe, it is possible that no actual
relationship exists."
"What of
that?" bluntly cut in the younger Gillespie. "Don’t you reckon
strangers’d like to take a little walk, just as well as any other people?"
"Patience, my
lad," interposed the professor. "While we seem in duty bound to lend
aid and assistance to women in actual distress, we can only serve them with
their own free will and accord. Granting that the women we saw upon the
teocalli were other than those believed by our afflicted friend--"
"But, uncle, look
at their names! And don’t Ixtli say--tell ’em all over again, pardner, won’t
ye?" urged Waldo, taking a burning interest in the matter, as was his
custom when fairly involved.
The young Aztec
complied as well as lay within his power, giving it as his fixed opinion that
sore trouble, if not actual peril, awaited the Children of the Sun, unless
assisted by powerful friends. He spoke of the mighty chieftain, Prince Hua, and
of the high priest, Tlacopa, who was, to all seeming, playing directly into the
hands of the ’Tzin.
"He say Mother of
Gods call--loud! He say sacrifice, and dat--no, no! Quetzal’ send--Quetzal’
save--must save Victo, Glady!"
Further questioning
resulted in but little more information, though, as Ixtli grew calmer, he
emphasised such statements as he had already made, elaborating them a trifle.
And, by this, his questioners learned that, humanly speaking, the fate of the
Sun God’s Children depended almost entirely upon the whim or fancy of the chief
paba of the teocalli.
Through Tlacopa issued
the awesome oracles, and when his voice thundered forth the dread fiat, who
dared to openly rebel?
Further questioning
brought forth one more important fact,--that there was absolutely no hope of
either Victo or Glady coming forth from the valley, either by night or by day.
While ostensibly free of will as they were of limb, neither woman was permitted
to leave yonder temple, save under armed escort; and guards were on duty each
hour of the day and night.
"But we could get
to see and speak with them, Ixtli?" asked Bruno, eager to reach some fair
understanding as to the future course of action.
"Yes, white
brother, go with Ixtli," came the hesitating reply; but then the Aztec
caught one of Gillespie’s hands, holding it in close contrast to his own brown
paw, shaking his head doubtingly. "No like. Keen eye, dem people. Watch
close. Find ’nother white skin--bad!"
"You hear that,
Bruno?" asked the professor, really relieved at such positive evidence in
conflict with the rash proposition made by the young man.
"Of course I
thought of going under cover of the night, uncle, and surely it would not be
such a difficult matter to darken my face and hands? With dirt, if nothing
better can be found. And if I wore the clothes you brought from the cavern,
uncle Phaeton?"
"That’s the
ticket!" broke in Waldo, eagerly. "Why, in a rig like that, I could
turn the trick my own self!"
The consultation was
broken off at this juncture by a faint summons from Cooper Edgecombe, and
Professor Featherwit was only too glad of the excuse, hurrying over to the
flying-machine, finding to his great joy that the exile was now far more like
his old-time self.
Still, great caution
was used in revealing all, and it was not until considerably later in the day
that Mr. Edgecombe felt capable of taking part in the discussion of ways and
means.
He declared that his
recognition had been complete, in spite of the long years which had elapsed
since losing sight of his dear ones; and he earnestly vowed to never give over
until their rescue was effected, or he had lost his life while making the
attempt.
While the two
air-voyagers were thus engaged in talk, Bruno silently stole away with Ixtli,
taking a bundle along, and leaving Waldo to throw their uncle off the track in
case his suspicions should be prematurely awakened. Then, side by side, two
Indian braves silently approached the aerostat, causing Professor Featherwit to
make a hasty dive for his dynamite gun to repel a fancied onslaught.
"Sold again, and
who comes next?" merrily exploded Waldo, dancing about in high glee as the
supposed redskin slowly turned around for inspection before speaking, in
familiar tones:
"Would there be
such an enormous risk of discovery, uncle Phaeton, provided I put lock and seal
upon my lips, save for the ladies?"
That experiment proved
to be a complete success, and after Cooper Edgecombe added his pathetic
pleadings to the young man’s own arguments, Professor Featherwit gradually gave
way, though still with reluctance.
"I could never
find forgiveness should harm come to your mother’s son, boy," he huskily
murmured, his arm stealing about Bruno’s middle. "I’d far rather venture
myself, and--why not, pray?" as Waldo burst into an involuntary laugh.
Then he turned upon
Ixtli, a hand resting upon each shoulder while he gazed keenly into those
lustrous dark orbs for a full minute in perfect silence. Then he spoke, slowly,
gravely:
"Can we trust you,
friend? Would you sell the boy to whose arm you owe your own life, unto his
enemies? Would you lead him blindly to his death, Ixtli, son of Aztotl?"
A wondering gaze, then
the Indian appeared to flush hotly. He shook off those far from steady hands,
drawing his knife and with free fingers tearing open his dress above the heart.
Thrusting the weapon into Bruno’s hand, he spoke in clear, distinct accents:
"Strike hard,
white brother! Open heart; see if all black!"
Eye to eye the two
youths stood for a brief space in silence, then the weapon was let fall, and
Bruno gripped the Indian’s hand and shook it most cordially.
"Strike you,
Ixtli? I’d just as soon smite my brother by birth!"
"And that’s mighty
right, too!" cried Waldo, impetuously.
"I really begin to
believe that you are all in the right, while I alone am left in the
wrong," frankly admitted the professor.
STILL, that point was
of too vital importance to justify hasty decision, and the professor did not
make his surrender complete until the shades of another night were beginning to
gather over the land.
Meantime, partly for
the purpose of keeping the youngsters employed and thus out of the way of less
harmless things, the professor suggested that the huge grizzly be flayed. If
the proposed scheme should really be undertaken, that mighty pelt, if
uncomfortable to convey, would serve as a fair excuse for the young brave’s as
yet unexplained absence from the Lost City.
As a matter of course,
Cooper Edgecombe felt intense anxiety through all, but he contrived to keep
fair mastery over his emotions, readily admitting that he himself could do
naught towards visiting the Lost City.
"I know that my
loved ones are yonder. I would joyfully suffer ten thousand deaths by torture
for the chance to speak one word to--to them. And yet I know any such attempt
would prove fatal to us all. The mere sight of--I would go crazy with
joy!"
There is no necessity
for repeating the various arguments used, pro and con, before the final
agreement was reached. Enough has already been put upon record, and the result
must suffice: Professor Featherwit yielded the vital point, and, having once
fairly expressed his fears and doubts, flung his whole heart into perfecting
the disguise which was now counted upon to carry Bruno safely into and out of
yonder city.
He was carefully
trigged out in the warlike uniform secured by Cooper Edgecombe at the cost of a
human life, and, with fresh stain applied to his face and hands, the slight
moustache he wore was not dangerously perceptible.
" ’Twould take a
strong light and mighty keen eyes to see it at all, and even if a body should
happen to notice it, he’d reckon ’twas a bit of smut, or the like," generously
declared Waldo.
Under less trying
circumstances, Bruno might have answered in kind, but now he merely smiled at
the jester, then turned again to receive the earnest cautions let fall for his
benefit by the professor.
Above all else, he was
to steer clear of fighting, and, without he saw a fair chance of winning speech
with the white women, he was to keep in such hiding as Ixtli might furnish,
trusting the young Aztec to post the Children of the Sun as to what was in the
wind.
Tremulous, almost incapable
of coherent speech, so intense was his agitation, Cooper Edgecombe sent many
messages to his loved ones, begging for one word in return. And if nothing less
would serve--
His voice choked, and
only his feverishly burning eyes could say the rest.
It was well past sunset
ere the youngsters set forth from the rendezvous, accompanied a short distance
by both Waldo and the professor; but the parting came in good time. It would be
worse than folly to add to the existent perils that of possible discovery by
some prowling Aztec who might work serious injury to them one and all.
That great bear-hide
proved a tax upon their strength, even though the bullet-riddled head-piece had
been carefully cut off and buried, lest those queer holes tell a risky tale on
close examination; but Ixtli, as well as Bruno, was upborne by an exaltation
such as neither had known before this hour.
There was nothing worse
than the natural obstacles in the way to be overcome, and, knowing every square
yard of ground so thoroughly, Ixtli chose the most practicable route to that
hill-encircled town.
The stony pass was
followed to the lower level, and the young adventurers had drawn fairly near
the first buildings ere encountering a living being; and then ample time was
given them for meeting the danger.
A low-voiced call
sounded upon the night air, and Ixtli responded in much the same tone. Bruno,
of course, was utterly in the dark as to what was being said, but he still held
perfect faith in his copper-hued guide, and left all to the son of Aztotl.
The Aztec brave
appeared to be explaining his unusually protracted absence, for he proudly
displayed the great grizzly pelt, then exhibited the spear-head from which
protruded the tooth-marked wood.
Like one who was
already familiar with the details, Bruno slowly lounged forward a pace or two,
then in silence awaited the pleasure of his companion on that night jaunt.
Ixtli was not many
minutes in shaking off the Indian, and, almost staggering beneath his shaggy
burden, moved away as though in haste to rejoin his family circle.
Fortunately for the
venture, the Aztecans appeared to believe in the maxim of going to bed early,
for there were very few individuals astir at that hour, young though the
evening still was. And by the clear moonlight which fell athwart the valley, it
was no difficult task to catch sight before being seen, where eyes so busy as
those of the two young men were concerned.
Only once were they
forced to make a brief detour in order to escape meeting another redskin, and
then a guarded whisper from the lips of the Aztec warned Bruno that they were
almost at the teocalli wherein the Children of the Sun made their home and
abiding-place.
Leaving the grizzly
pelt at a corner, for the time being, Ixtli led his white friend up and into
the Temple of the Sun, pressing a hand by way of added caution.
Although he had
declared that an armed guard was kept night and day over the Sun Children, and
that he hoped to pass Bruno as well as himself without any serious difficulty,
since he had long been a favoured visitor, and ever welcomed by Victo and
Glady, the temple was seemingly without such protection upon the present
occasion.
Ixtli expressed great
surprise when this fact became evident, and he showed uneasiness as to the
welfare of his beloved patroness and kindly teacher.
Surely something evil
was impending! His father, Aztotl, was chieftain of the guards, and wholly
devoted to the Sun Children, ready at all times to risk life in their behalf.
Now, if the usual guards were lacking, surely it portended evil,--treachery, no
doubt, at the bottom of which the paba and the ’Tzin almost certainly lurked.
All this Ixtli
contrived to convey to Bruno, who fairly well shared that anxiety, but who was
more for going ahead with a bold rush, to learn the worst as quickly as might
be.
Still, unfamiliar with
the construction of the temple as he was, Bruno felt helpless without his
guide, and so timed his progress by that of Ixtli, right hand tightly gripping
the handle of his "hand-wood," or maquahuitl, resolved to give a good
account of either of those rascally varlets in case trouble lay ahead.
The unwonted desolation
which appeared to reign on all sides was plainly troubling the Aztec brave, and
he seemed to suspect a cunning ambuscade, judging from his slow advance,
pausing at nearly every step to bend ear in keen listening.
Still, nothing was
actually seen or heard until after the young men reached the upper elevation,
upon a portion of which the Sun Children had been first sighted by the
air-voyagers.
Here the first sound of
human voices was heard, and Bruno stopped short in obedience to the almost
fierce grip which Ixtli closed upon his nearest arm, listening for a brief
space, then breathing, lowly:
"We see, first.
Dat good! Him see first, dat bad! Eye, ear, two both. You know, brother?"
"You mean that we
are to listen and play spy, first, Ixtli?" asked Bruno, scarcely catching
the real meaning of those hurried words.
"Yes. Dat best.
Come; step like snow falls, brother."
"Who is it,
first?"
"Victo, she one.
Odder man, not know sure, but think Huatzin. He bad; all bad! Kill him, some
day. Dat good; plenty good all over!"
This grim vow appeared
to do the Aztec good from a mental point of view, and then he led his white
friend silently towards the covered part of the teocalli, from whence those
sounds emanated.
Curtains of thick stuff
served to shut in the light and to partly smother the sound of voices, but
Ixtli cautiously formed a couple of peepholes of which they quickly made good
use.
A portion of the sacred
fire was burning upon its special altar, while a large lamp, formed of baked
clay, was suspended from the roof, shedding a fair light around, as well as
perfuming the enclosure quite agreeably.
Almost directly beneath
this hanging-lamp stood the two Children of the Sun, one tall, stately, almost
queenly of stature, and now looking unusually impressive, as she seemed to act
as shield for her daughter, slighter, more yielding, but ah, how lovely of face
and comely of person!
Even then Bruno could
not help realising those facts, although his ears were tingling sharply with
the harsh accents falling from a far different pair of lips, those of a tall,
muscular warrior whose form was gorgeously arrayed in featherwork and cunning
weaving, rich-hued dyes having been called to aid the other arts as well.
If this was actually the
Prince Hua, then he was a most brutal sample of Aztecan aristocracy, and at
first sight Gillespie felt a fierce hatred for the harsh-toned chieftain.
As a matter of course,
Bruno was unable to comprehend just what was being said, thanks to his complete
ignorance of the language employed; but he felt morally certain that ugly
threats were passing through those thin lips, and even so soon his hands began
to itch and his blood to glow, both urging him to the rescue.
Swiftly fell the reply
made by Victo, and her words must have stung the prince to the quick, since he
uttered a savage cry, drawing back an arm as though to smite that proudly
beautiful face with his hard-clenched fist.
That proved to be the
cap-sheaf, for Bruno could stand no more. He dashed aside the heavy curtain as
he leaped forward, giving a stern cry as he came, swinging the war club over
his shoulder to strike with all vengeance at the startled and recoiling
Aztecan.
Only the young man’s
unfamiliarity with the weapon preserved Prince Hua from certain death. As it
was, he reeled, to fall in a nerveless heap upon the floor, while, with a
startled cry, another Aztec broke away in flight.
THAT sudden appearance
and flight of another man took Ixtli even more by surprise than it did Bruno,
for he never even suspected such a possibility, knowing Prince Hua so well.
Still, the young brave was swift to rally, swift to pursue, sending a menace of
certain death in case the fleeing cur should not yield himself.
Just then Bruno had
eyes and thoughts for the Sun Children alone, who quite naturally shrunk back
in mingled surprise and alarm at his unceremonious entrance. He forgot his
disguise, forgot everything save that before him stood the fair beings whom he
had vowed to save at all hazards from what appeared to him worse by far than
actual death.
Gillespie never knew
just what words crossed his lips during those first few seconds, but he saw
that the women, in place of eagerly accepting his aid, were visibly shrinking,
apparently more alarmed than delighted with the opportunity thus offered.
Doubtless this was
caused mainly by that odd blending of Aztec and paleface, the colour and garb
of the one joined to the tongue of the other; but the result might have been
even worse, had not Ixtli hastened back to clear up more matters than one.
In spite of his utmost
efforts, the second Indian had escaped with life, although he received a
glancing wound from an arrow, as he plunged down towards the lower level; and
nothing seemed more certain than that an alarm would right speedily spread
throughout the town, if only for the purpose of hurrying succour to the Lord
Hua.
All this rolled in
swift words over Ixtli’s lips, his warning finding completion before either of
the women could fairly interrupt the young brave. But then the one whom Ixtli
termed Victo spoke rapidly in his musical tongue, one strong white hand waving
towards the now somewhat embarrassed Gillespie.
"He friend; come
save you, like save Ixtli," the Aztec hurriedly made reply, with generous
tact speaking so that Bruno could comprehend as well as the women. "He
good; all good! Paba bad; ’Tzin more bad; be worse bad if stay here, Victo--
Glady."
Thus given the proper
cue, Bruno took fresh courage and, in as few words as might be, explained his
mission. He spoke the name of Cooper Edgecombe, and for the first time that
queenly woman showed signs of weakness, staggering back with a faint, choking
gasp, one hand clasped spasmodically above her madly throbbing heart, the other
rising to her temples as though in fear of coming insanity.
"He is well; he is
safe and longing for his loved ones," Bruno swiftly added, producing the
brief note which the exiled aeronaut had pressed into his hand at almost the
last moment. "He wrote you that--here it is, and--"
"Make hurry,
quick!" sharply interposed Ixtli, as ominous sounds began to arise without
the Temple of the Sun God. "Dog git ’way, howl for more. Come here--kill
like gods be glad."
With an evident effort
Victo rallied, tones far from steady as she begged both young men to save
themselves without thought of them.
"I thank you;
heaven alone knows how overjoyed I am to hear from my dear husband,--my poor
child’s own father! And he is near, to-- But go, go! Guide and protect him,
Ixtli, for-- Go, I implore you, sir!"
"But how--we haven’t
arranged how you are to be rescued, and I must understand--"
"Later, then;
another time, through Ixtli," interrupted Mrs. Edgecombe, since there
could no longer be a doubt as to her identity. "If found here ’twill be
our ruin as well as your own. Go, and at once I fear that Lord Hua may--"
"He ’live
yet," pronounced Ixtli, rising from a hasty examination o f the fallen
chieftain. "Dat bad; much more worse bad! He dog; all over dog!"
"And I greatly
fear he must have recognised you as one of a foreign race, in spite of your
disguise," added the elder woman, trouble in her face even as it showed in
her voice. "He will be wild for revenge, and I fear-- Go, and directly,
Ixtli!"
Bruno Gillespie was
only too well assured that this latest fear had foundation on truth. Swiftly
though he had wielded the awkward (to him) hand-wood, Huatzin had sufficient
time to sight his assailant, and almost certainly had divined at least a
portion of the truth.
Doubtless it would have
been the more prudent course to repeat that blow with greater precision; but
Bruno could not bring himself to do just that, even though the ugly cries were
growing in volume on the ground level; and he felt that capture would be but
the initial step to death, in all likelihood upon the great stone of sacrifice.
Imminent though their
peril surely was, Bruno could not betake himself to flight without at least
partially performing the duty for which he had volunteered; and so he took time
to hurriedly utter:
"Watch from the
top of the tower for the air-ship, and be ready to leave at any moment, I
implore you--both!"
For even now his
admiring gaze could with difficulty be torn away from yonder younger, even more
lovely, visage; although as yet the maiden had spoken no word, even shrinking
away from this strangely speaking Aztec as though in affright.
"Come, brother, or
too late," urged Ixtli, almost sternly. "Save you, or Glass-eyes call
Ixtli dog- liar. Come; must run, no fight; too big many for that."
And so it seemed, when
the young men rushed away from the lighted interior and gained the uncovered
space beyond. Loud cries came soaring through the night from different
directions, and dim, phantom-like shapes could be glimpsed in hurrying
confusion.
Apparently the majority
only knew that trouble of some description was brewing, and that the centre of
interest was either in or near the Temple of the Sun God; yet that was more
than sufficient to place the white intruder in great peril, despite the
elaborate disguise he wore.
Then with awful
abruptness there came a sound which could only be likened to rolling thunder by
one uninitiated, but which caused Ixtli to shrink and almost cower, ere
gasping:
"The great
war-drum! Now must go! Sacrifice if caught; come, white brother! See, dat more
bad now!"
Those mighty throbs
rolled and reverberated from the hills, filling the night air with waves of
thunder, none the less awe-inspiring now that their true import was realised.
The entire population
was aroused, and each building seemed to cast forth an armed host, while, as
through some magic touch, a circle of fires sprung up on all sides, beginning
to illumine both valley and barrier.
Bruno stood like one
appalled, really fascinated by this transformation scene for which he had been
so poorly prepared; but Ixtli better comprehended their situation, and gripping
an arm he muttered, hastily:
"Come, brother;
stop more, make too late. Must hide, now. Dat stop go back way came.
Come!"
Bruno roused himself
with an effort, then yielded to the Aztec’s guidance, crouching low as the
brief bit of clear moonlight had to be traversed.
Instead of making for
the steps which, as customary, reached from terrace to terrace at each corner,
Ixtli crept to the centre, where the temple-side was cast into deepest shadow,
then lowered himself by his arms, to drop silently to the broad path below.
A whispered word urged
Bruno to imitate this action, and those friendly hands caught and steadied
Gillespie as he took the drop. And so, one after another, the mighty steps were
passed, both young men reaching the ground at the same instant, having
succeeded in leaving the Temple of the Sun God without being glimpsed by an
Indian of all those whom the sonorous drum-throbs had brought forth In arms.
"Whither
now?" asked Bruno, in guarded tones, as he looked forth from shadow into
moonlight, seeing scores upon scores of armed shapes flitting to and fro, all
looking for the enemy, yet none able to precisely locate the trouble.
Just then a savage yell
broke from the top of the temple, followed by a few fierce-sounding sentences,
which Ixtli declared came from the Lord Hua, then adding:
"He say kill if
catch, but dat--no! Come, white brother. Ixtli show how play fool dat dog;
yes!"
"All right, my
hearty. Is it a break for the hills? I reckon I can break through. If
not--well, I’ll leave some marks behind me, anyway!"
"No, no, dat bad!
Can’t go to hills; must hide," positively declared the young Aztec.
"Come, now. Me show good place; all dead but we."
Evidently trusting to
pass undetected where so many others were rushing back and forth in seeming
confusion, Ixtli broke away from the shadow of the temple, closely followed by
Gillespie, heading as directly as might be for the strange refuge which he now had
in mind.
That proved to be a
low, unpretending structure which was of no great extent, so far as Bruno’s
hasty look could ascertain. Still, that was not the time for doubting the
wisdom of his guide, nor a moment in which to discuss either methods or means;
and as Ixtli passed through a massive entrance, the paleface followed, giving a
little shiver as the barrier swung to behind them.
"What sort of a
place is it, anyway, Ixtli?" he demanded, but the Aztec was too hurried
for words, just then, save enough to warn his companion in peril that they must
descend deeper into the earth.
It was more of a
scramble than a deliberate descent, for the gloom was complete, and Bruno had
no time in which to feel for steps or stairs. Only for the aiding touch of his
guide, he must have taken more than one awkward tumble ere that lower level was
attained.
Then a breathing-spell
was granted him, and, while Ixtli bent ear in listening to discover if pursuit
was being made, Bruno drew a match from the liberal supply he had taken the
precaution to fetch along, and, striking it, held aloft the tiny torch to view
their present surroundings.
Only to give an
involuntary start and cry as he caught indistinct glimpses of fleshless bones
and grinning skulls, those grim relics of mortality showing upon every side as
his wild eyes roved around.
Then a hand struck down
the match, and a swift voice breathed:
"Dey come dis way.
See us hide--come hunt, now, to kill!"
NOT until the two young
men passed beneath those heavy curtains did either one of the Sun Children
really give thought to their own possible peril, but stood close together, arm
of mother about daughter as they listened to the ominous sounds without, so
rapidly growing in force and number.
Then, just as the deep
tones of the war-drum boomed forth upon the night air, the fallen Aztec
betrayed signs of rallying wits, giving a low sound which might have been groan
of pain or curse of baffled rage. Be that as it may, the sound served one
purpose: Victoria Edgecombe (to append her correct name for the first time)
drew her child farther away, her right hand reaching forth to pluck a light yet
effective spear from where it lay against the wall.
"Mother,
mother!" faintly panted the maiden, plainly at a loss to comprehend all
that had so recently transpired. "What is it? What does it all mean?
Surely that was Ixtli; and--the other?"
"A messenger from
your father, child, and--"
"My father? I
thought--he is not--not dead?"
"Thanks be to
heaven, not dead!" with hysterical joy in face as in voice. "Alive,
and seeking us, Gladys! Coming to rescue us from this death in life, and
now--to your knees, my daughter; to thy knees, and lift thanks unto the good
Father who has at last listened to my moans!"
Again the war-drum
boomed forth in an awesome roll, but all unheeding that ominous sound, paying
no attention to the stirring of yonder savage, whose lacerated scalp was
painting his face a deeper red than even nature intended, mother and daughter
sank to their knees, lifting hands and hearts towards the All-Powerful, even as
their gratitude floated towards the Throne of Grace.
Then arose the hoarse
tones of Huatzin, bidding his allies find and slay without mercy; cursing the
treacherous Aztec who had thus guided one of a strange tribe into the very
heart of their beloved city.
With a short, fierce
ejaculation, Victo sprang to her feet, right hand once again grasping shaft of
javelin, its copper point gleaming ruddily in the rays of lamp as though
already moistened by the heart-blood of yonder villain.
Far differently acted
the maiden, her figure trembling with fear and wonder commingled, her lips
slightly blanched as she clung closer to her mother. Yet through all ran a
touch of girlish curiosity which helped shape the words now crossing her lips.
"Who was it,
mother? Who could the stranger be? And whither has he gone?"
"With Ixtli, my
child, and may the good God of our own people grant them both life and liberty!
If I thought--your father, Gladys! Alive and looking for his beloved ones! See!
from his own dear hand, and he says-- Hold! who comes there?"
But the alarm appeared
to be without actual foundation, for the sounds came no closer, remaining
beyond the drapery past which Lord Hua had staggered only a few brief seconds
before.
Gladys rallied more
speedily than one might have expected, and she spoke with even greater interest
than at first.
"My dear father,
and alive? Oh, mother, why is he not here to--why should he send another? And
that one--he spoke our dear language, mother; surely he is not--not as
Ixtli?"
"No; he was of our
own people, child, and I can hardly conceive how he came hither, save that
Ixtli must have acted as guide."
"And those awful
warriors!" shivering as the war-cries followed the muffled roar of the
great drum. "If found, he will be slain! Do you think there is any hope
for him, mother? And he seemed so--so--"
"He is gone with
Ixtli, and Ixtli is true to the very core," Victo hastened to give
assurance. "I would rather trust him than many another of thrice his years
and warlike experience. Ixtli is true; ay, as true and tried as his father,
Aztotl!"
"Who loves you,
mother, and would win--"
"Hush,
child!" just a bit sharply interposed the elder woman, yet at the same
time tightening that loving clasp. "Merely as the daughter of his Sun God,
Quetzalcoatl, and--ha!"
Once again there came
the echoes of rapid foot-falls beyond the heavy draperies, and again this
Amazonian mother drew her superb form in front of her shrinking child, poising
the javelin in readiness for stroke or casting, as might serve best.
A strong arm brushed
the curtains aside sufficiently to admit its owner’s passage, but the armed
warrior stopped short at sighting the Sun Children, his proud head lowering,
hands crossing over his broad bosom in token of adoration,--for it surely was
more than mere submission to one held his superior.
With a low cry, Victo
drew back a bit, weapon lowering as she recognised friend in place of enemy.
"It is you,
Aztotl?" she spoke, in mellow tones. "I thought--did you remove the
usual guards, this evening?"
"The blame falls
to my share, Sun Child," the Red Heron made answer, with a meekness
strange in one of his build and general appearance, that of a king among
ordinary warriors.
"Not justly, nor
through fault of your own, my good and true friend," the elder woman made
haste to give assurance. "Not even thy lips shall speak slander of Aztotl
the True-heart, my brother."
With a swift advance
the Red Heron caught the unarmed hand, to bend over it until his lips barely
brushed the soft, perfumed skin. Then he sank to one knee, bowing his head
until his brow touched the floor beneath her sandalled feet.
Swiftly, gracefully,
these movements were made, and where they would have appeared fulsome or
degraded in some, with this warrior the effect was far from disagreeable to see
or to experience.
Victo flushed warmly
and drew back a little farther, for the memory of those words let fall by
Gladys came back with unpleasant distinctness. And was she so certain that
Aztotl looked upon her as merely a god-descended priestess?
The Red Heron arose
easily, head rising proudly above his shapely shoulders as he met those great
blue eyes,--eyes as pure and as fathomless as the cloudless sky in midsummer.
And then, more like one
giving a bare statement of facts than one offering a defence for himself,
Aztotl spoke of a faithless subordinate, who was guilty of either careless
neglect, or worse.
"It may be that
Tezcatl lost his wits through strong waters, Sun Child, or even that he took
evil pay from still more vile hands. You have seen the last of him, though,
Child of Quetzal’l."
"You surely do not
mean that--"
Aztotl lightly tapped
the knife-hilt showing above his maxtlatl, coldly adding words to that
significant gesture:
"There is no place
for fool or traitor upon the body-guard of the Sun Children. Tezcatl sinned; he
has paid full forfeit. And just so shall all others perish who dare cast an
evil glance towards--ha!"
Another outcry arose
from the other side of the curtained recess, and the Red Heron instantly sprang
away in that direction, hands gripping weapons in readiness for instant use in
case of need.
Almost as swiftly,
Victo and the maiden followed, one through fear, the other through utter lack
of fear, for herself.
Those savage cries came
from the lips of none other than the chieftain whose now bare head bore significant
traces of Bruno Gillespie’s handiwork, and he seemed bent on rushing directly
into the presence of the Sun Children, until Red Heron interposed, stern and
icy-toned:
"Stand back, my
Lord Hua!" he ordered, left hand advanced with open palm, but its dexter
mate armed and ready for hot work if that must come. "Venture no closer,
on thy peril, chief!"
Huatzin recoiled a bit,
though that might have been more through surprise than because he feared this
proud warrior. He gripped his knife-hilt, and partly drew the blade from its
supporting sash. A hissing oath escaped his lips, and he crouched a trifle, as
a wild beast gathers its deadliest force prior to making a death leap.
"Darest thou bar
my path, Aztotl?" he cried, hoarsely. "Make way, I bid thee; make
way, for I will see the Sun Children and--"
"Not so, my Lord
Hua," coldly interrupted the master of guards, that warning palm still
turned to the front. "You are here without law or leave, and know what the
edict says: from the going to the return of the sun, these stones are sacred
from all feet save those of the Sun Children and their regular
body-guard."
"What care I for
laws? Or for such as thou, Red Heron? I will that such a thing shall be, and it
comes to pass. And--thou dare to bar my way, Aztotl?"
"Ay. By words if
they prove sufficient. By force if called for. By death if worst must come;
even the death of a mighty chieftain like Lord Hua would not be too great a
feat."
For a brief space it
seemed as though Huatzin would make a leap to which there could be but one
termination, death to one or to both. But Aztotl coldly spoke on:
"I have given you
fair and friendly warning, Lord Hua. Go, now, while the path of peace lies
open. Go, else I sound the call, and my guard will take you in charge, just as
they would any other rascally intruder."
"Your precious
son, for instance?" retorted the ’Tzin, viciously. "He came with one
whom--one of a different race from our own, Aztotl! A traitor in thy own
family, yet thou darest hint at--"
Aztotl lifted a bent
finger to his lips, sounding a shrill, far-penetrating whistle. The response
was prompt indeed, an armed force advancing with weapons held ready, awaiting
only word from commander to punish that rash intruder by hurling him to death over
the terraces.
Although nearly beside
himself with fury, Huatzin glared defiance at both guard and its commander,
then turned more directly upon the Sun Children, speaking in savage tones:
"Unto you, proud
Victo, I’ll either win you as my--"
"Go on, Lord
Hua," coldly spoke the woman, as his voice choked.
"I’ll win and wear
you as my squaw, or else give you to the stone of sacrifice!" he snarled,
then turned away as Aztotl motioned his guards to clear the temple of all
intruders, then see that none other dared enter.
IT was with stronger
forebodings than he dared acknowledge even to himself, that Professor
Featherwit watched the two young men out of sight in the early gloom, and
scarcely had his nephew passed beyond hearing than uncle Phaeton would gladly
have recalled Bruno.
Waldo made light of all
fears, prophesying complete success, and even going so far as to predict Bruno’s
return accompanied by the Children of the Sun; enthusiastic words which set the
exile to trembling with excess of joy and anticipation.
What, then, was the
blank dismay of all when, floating through the night, came the hollow throbbing
of yonder mighty war-drum, fetching each person to his feet and holding him
spellbound for the first few seconds.
Cooper Edgecombe turned
sick at heart, even while ignorant as to the method of sending forth that
alarm, his hollow groan being the first sound to follow the simultaneous
exclamation which burst from three pairs of lips as the surprise came. And but
a breath later Waldo broke forth with the excited query:
"What is it? What’s
broken loose now? Surely--thunder?"
Only Professor Phaeton
at once recognised the sound, through description, and each one of those
swiftly succeeding strokes seemed falling upon his heart, bidding him mourn for
his beloved nephew, upon whom his aged eyes had surely looked their last in
this life!
Yet it was the
professor who took prompt action, speaking sharply as he darted across to where
the air-ship rested:
"Come; get aboard,
and let us do what lies in our power. It was criminal to send the poor lad into
the jaws of death, but now--hasten, there may be a chance, even yet!"
The call was still hot
upon his lips when his two companions entered the aerostat, gripping tight the
hand-rail as Professor Featherwit sent the vessel afloat with reckless haste.
As by a miracle they escaped disaster through rushing into a bushy treetop, and
that fact served to steady the aeronaut’s nerves.
"On guard, uncle
Phaeton!" cried Waldo, making a lucky snatch at his cap, which one of the
stiff boughs brushed off his head.
"Ay, ay,
lad," responded the man at the guiding-gear, as the air-ship shot onward
and upward, now heading, as directly as was practicable, for the Lost City of
the Aztecs. "That was the very lesson I needed. I am steady of nerve, now,
and will show no lack,--heaven grant that we may not be for ever too late,
though!"
"What do you
reckon could have kicked up such a bobbery, uncle? And what--ugh!" as the
wardrum’s throbbings again swelled forth in grim alarm. "What in time is
that, anyway?"
As briefly as might be,
the professor explained, and almost for the first time Waldo felt a thrill of
dread.
"If they’ve got
Bruno, what will they do with him?"
That very dread was
worrying uncle Phaeton, and already through his busy brain were flashing horrid
pictures of punishment and sacrifice, of hideous scenes of torture, wherein the
eldest son of his dead sister played a prominent role, perforce.
He dared not trust his
tongue to make answer, just then, and sent the aeromotor onward at top speed,
leaning far forward to win the earliest glimpse of--what?
He caught sight of
blazing beacons fairly encircling the Lost City, forming a cordon through which
no stranger could hope to pass unseen. He beheld hundreds of armed shapes
rushing to and fro, plainly looking for some intruder or other enemy, yet
almost as certainly failing as yet to make the longed-for discovery.
Not until that moment
had uncle Phaeton dared indulge in even the shadow of a hope. The awful alarm
seemed proof conclusive that poor Bruno had been taken, through the treachery
of Ixtli.
Naturally enough, that
was his first belief, but now, as the air-ship slackened pace to circle more
deliberately above the valley, all eyes on the eager watch for either Bruno or
something to hint at his fate, Professor Featherwit lost a portion of that
conviction.
If Bruno had indeed
fallen victim to misplaced confidence, and had been craftily lured into this
den of ravening wild beasts, why all this confusion and mad skurry? Why had not
the traitor first made sure of his victim? Why such a general alarm?
Although such haste in
getting afloat had been made, some little time had been thus consumed, and,
before the aerostat was fairly above the Lost City, Bruno and Ixtli had dropped
by stages down the shadowed side of the Temple of the Sun God, to burrow underneath
the ground as their surest method of eluding pursuit.
Only for that, the end
might have been different, for, once sighted, Gillespie would have been rescued
by his friends, or those friends would surely have shared death with him.
And so it came to pass
that, circle though they might, calling ears to supplement their eyes, swooping
perilously low down in their fierce eagerness to sight their imperilled one,
never a glimpse of the young man could they obtain, nor even a definite hint as
to where next to look for him.
"Surely they
cannot have captured Bruno, as yet?" huskily muttered uncle Phaeton,
hungrily straining his eyes without reward. "If the poor boy had actually
fallen into such evil hands, why such crazy confusion? Why--oh, why did I permit
his coaxings to overpower my better judgment? Why did I send him into--"
The words stuck in his
throat and refused to issue. Phaeton Featherwit just then felt himself little
less than a cold-blooded assassin.
Mr. Edgecombe was but
little less deeply stirred, although his feelings were more of a mixture. He
grieved for Bruno, and would willingly risk his life in hopes of doing the
young man a service, yet his gaze was drawn far more frequently towards yonder
temple, on the top of which he had--surely he had caught sight of his wife, his
daughter!
"Let me down and
try to find him," he eagerly begged, as one might plead for a great boon.
"I promise to save him if yet alive, and--let me try, professor; I beg of
you, give me this chance to show my heartfelt gratitude."
But Professor
Featherwit shook his head in negation.
"That would only
add to our trouble, friend. Knowing nothing of the dialect, you would be wholly
at a loss. And, looking so entirely different in every respect, how could you
hope to pass inspection?"
"All seems so
confused, that I might--surely it is worth trying."
"It would be
suicidal, so say no more on that score," almost harshly spoke the usually
mild-mannered aeronaut, sending his vessel upon another circuit, only with
stern vigilance choking back the appealing shout to his lost nephew.
This time the aerostat
was brought directly above the Temple of the Sun, where there appeared to be
some unusual disturbance, a number of armed guards fairly driving a gaily
arrayed Indian down to the lower levels, and that greatly against his
inclinations, judging from the harsh cries and ringing threats which burst from
his lips.
Recognising the
building, and unable to hold his intense emotions longer under stern control,
Cooper Edgecombe called aloud the names of his wife and daughter, begging that
they might come to him; but then the air-ship was sent onward and upward, with
a dizzying swoop, and Professor Featherwit gripped an arm, sternly speaking:
"Quiet, sir!
Another outbreak like that and I’ll lock your lips, if I have to send a bullet
through your mad brain!"
"I forgot. I could
not wait longer, knowing that my loved ones--"
"You forgot that
the lives of all depend upon our remaining at liberty," coldly interrupted
Featherwit. "Without this means of conveyance, how can your loved ones
escape? Now, your solemn pledge to maintain utter silence, or I will take you
back to yonder wilderness, leaving you to shift for yourself as best you can.
Promise, sir!"
"I will,--I do.
Forgive me, for I was carried away by--’twas there I saw--after so many
horrible years!" huskily muttered the exile, fairly cowering there, before
his saviour from the whirlpool.
"Enough; bear in
mind that the rescue of your loved ones depend on our efforts. If discovered by
yonder snarling beasts, and the machine is injured,--farewell, all hopes! Now,
quiet, and look for Bruno!"
Again the air-ship
circled over the valley, in spite of the moonlight passing wholly unseen and
unsuspected by the Aztecs, whose energies were bent on ferreting out mortal
foes, not demons of the upper world.
Waldo leaned farther
over the hand-rail as they floated closer to an excited group of warriors, the
central figure being Lord Hua himself, fiercely denouncing Aztotl and his son,
Ixtli, as traitors to the common welfare, and calling upon all honest braves to
mete forth befitting punishment.
Professor Featherwit
caught one name indistinctly; that of the young Aztec in whose company Bruno
had set forth on his ill-starred venture; and hoping to learn more of
importance, he caused the aerostat to hover directly above that particular
group of redskins.
Waldo, never stopping
to count the risk he might thus fetch upon them all, silently lowered the
grapnel, by means of the drag-rope, giving a boyish chuckle as the
three-pronged hook descended amidst that gathering, the sight causing more than
one superstitious brave to leap aside, with cries of amazed affright.
The air-ship gave a
sudden swoop, and the grapnel caught Huatzin by his girdle, jerking him fairly
off his feet, and swinging him into air, pretty much as a youngster might land
a writhing fish. But no fish ever sent forth so wild a screech of mingled rage
and terror as split the air just then.
Although hardly
realising what was happening, Professor Featherwit sent the aeromotor upward
with a mighty jerk. The shock proving too much for that sash, Lord Hua fell
back to earth, literally biting the dust, although he met with no bodily harm
beyond sundry bruises.
"Caught a sucker,
and--I’ll never do it again, uncle!" exploded Waldo, as he swiftly hauled
in his novel fish-line; but he had to take a severe lecture from the professor
before the subject was finally dropped.
And, worse than all
else, the air-demon was now the target for both eyes and arrows, and, perforce,
sailed swiftly away into the night.
IXTLI spoke with a
degree of earnestness which left no room for doubt, even if the young man’s own
keen sense of hearing had not given warning but an instant later.
Ominous sounds came
from the entrance, which had served them but so brief a time gone by, and Bruno
knew that, even if they had escaped being seen while thus attempting to win
such a gruesome refuge, the possibility of their having elected just such a
line of flight had occurred to some of the redskins.
Gillespie heard the
heavy doors open, then clang to again. He was fairly confident that some of the
Aztecs had entered, although as yet the utter darkness hindered further
recognition.
"What next,
Ixtli?" he whispered, lips almost touching the face of his young guide, as
they stood close together in the mirk. "They can’t take me alive! Is it
fight, or--"
"No fight
yet," gently breathed the Aztec in turn. "Dey look, dat not make sure
find. Dey try see; we try not see all time. Dey come, we go,--like dis!"
Catching a hand within
his own clasp, Ixtli led Bruno away in that utter darkness, seemingly well
acquainted with the lay of the ground, although it quickly became evident that
there must be more than one direct passage. Bruno felt convinced that there
were other chambers turning at right angles to their present course, though it
might have bothered the young man to give entirely satisfactory reasons for
such belief.
Ixtli did not flee fast
nor far, in that first spurt, pausing shortly to turn face towards the rear, a
low, musical chuckle coming through his lips.
"Dey come look,
got no eyes for see in dark," he explained, barely loud enough for Bruno
to catch his meaning. "We play fool dem all; dat be fun; heap fun all time
over!"
Ixtli was scarcely as
precise of speech while under the influence of excitement as when he had ample
time in which to pick and choose his words; but there was little room for
mistaking his meaning, which, after all, is fairly sufficient.
But this time the young
brave was in error, for only a few moments later both fugitives caught sight of
a dim light in hurried motion far towards the entrance to these underground
crypts. That warned them of added peril, and Ixtli’s chuckle died abruptly
away.
"They’ll fetch us
now," grimly muttered Bruno, shaking his fairly athletic shoulders and
fingering the knife at his belt as though making preparations for an inevitable
struggle. "All right. They may kill, but I’ll furnish some red paint for
my tombstone, anyway!"
It may be doubted
whether Ixtli fully appreciated this conclusion, yet he divined something of
what was spoken, and made swift response:
"No kill yet. Dey
look, we hide. Mebbe not find. Mebbe play fool all over--yes!"
"Where can we hide
that lights won’t ferret us out, though? If a fellow might only have the same
advantage; here in this darkness I’m not worth a sick kitten!"
Just a bit disgustedly
came the words, but Bruno was not giving over in weak despair. No matter how
vast the odds might show against him, he would put up a gallant fight as long
as he could lift his hand or strike a blow.
Still, he was by no
means anxious for the crisis to arrive. He would far rather run than fight,
under existing circumstances; but whither, and how?
Ixtli took it upon
himself to solve the perplexing enigma, in a whisper bidding his white brother
follow with as little sound as might be, once more hurrying away through the
gloomy blackness, which was by no means rendered more agreeable to Bruno by
that fleeting glimpse of the dead men’s bones.
There was little room
left for doubting the truth. Their presence in the death-cells surely was more
than suspected, judging from the actions of yonder redskins, who flashed the
light over and into each angle and corner, each niche and jog, where a human
being might possibly seek concealment.
They were not so many
in number, but still a larger force than could well be met with success by two
youths, even granting that Ixtli would turn lethal weapons against his own
people, which Bruno felt was by no means a settled fact.
For some little time
the young men kept without that limited circle of light, watching each movement
made by the searchers, and at the same time taking care that none of the little
party stole a dangerous march upon them by hastening in advance of the lights.
Ixtli apparently
enjoyed the affair, much as a child might a successful game of I-spy, for he
emitted occasional chuckles, and let fall soft whispers which, if caught by
other ears, certainly would not have deeply benefited the fugitives when
captured.
Thanks to that slow
progress, rendered thus by the care and minuteness of the search, Bruno began
to marvel at the extent of the catacombs, and almost involuntarily calculate
how many centuries it must have taken to accumulate such enormous quantities of
remains. For, thanks to yonder prying light, he could see how high those grim
relics of perishing mortality were piled up in tiers, with here and there
upright skeletons in position of greater prominence.
Perhaps Gillespie might
have been better able to appreciate Ixtli’s amusement had he even an inkling as
to how this game of hide-and-go-seek was fated to end. That an end must come,
eventually, was a foregone conclusion. And then?
He ventured to ask
Ixtli how they were to escape detection when they could retreat no farther, but
before an answer could be fairly shaped, that end seemed actually upon them.
Without sound or
warning of any sort, another bright light showed at a considerable distance in
the opposite direction, and, as Bruno stared that way, he made out several
armed warriors who appeared to be engaged in that same occupation: searching
that city of the dead for the living!
Thus caught between two
fires, there seemed only one course to pursue, and, with the courage of his
fathers, Bruno spoke in low, grim tones to his young guide:
"No use for you to
join in the mix, Ixtli. I’ll do the best I know how, but if I can’t make the
riffle, if I go down for good and all, I ask you to convey the news to my
friends. You will?"
But Ixtli was not at
the end of his resources, and gripping a wrist, he urged Bruno towards yonder
second light, speaking hastily as they moved along towards the edge of that
wide passage. No fight, yet. Best hide; mebbe no find; dat best try first. Den
Ixtli fight like white brother,--fast!"
There was time for
scant speech, for just then the two parties seemed, for the first time, to
catch sight of each other, and while the brave bearing the rude lantern still
maintained his slow movements, searching well as he came, the other Indians
came in advance, giving the fugitives barely time in which to crouch down under
temporary cover.
The moment these
enemies had passed them by, Ixtli urged Bruno on, then, in swift whispers,
instructed him how to perfect his hiding, even aiding the young paleface into
one of the upright crypts, back of a grim skeleton, the mouldering blankets
assisting in covering the one of flesh and blood.
After like fashion, the
Aztec sought cover on the opposite side of the passage. None too quickly,
either; for now the single searcher drew dangerously nigh, peering into every
practicable hiding-place on either side, before moving onward.
Little by little he
drew closer, while the other band of searchers apparently turned off into a
side passage, or large chamber, since nothing could be seen or heard of them by
the fugitives.
In all probability,
Ixtli’s bold ruse would have proved a complete success, for the Aztec warrior
showed no suspicion as he drew nearer; but it was not to be thus.
Fairly holding his
breath, lest he disturb some of the dry bones immediately in front of himself,
Bruno waited and hoped, only to feel his blood chill, and his heart fail him,
as a sickening horror crept over his brain; nor was that the only creeping
thing,--worse luck!
Past all room for
doubting, his entrance into that crypt had disturbed the repose of a snake of
some description; for now he could feel the loathsome reptile crawling slowly
up his back, turning the skin beneath to scorching ice in its horrid passage.
One horrible nightmare
minute that lasted, then the serpent paused upon his shoulder and biceps,
touching his cheek with nose, then drawing back its ugly head to give an
ominous hiss.
Human flesh and blood
could endure no more, and Bruno flung the snake violently off, striking
forcibly against that mass of dry bones as he did so. With a rattling clatter,
the skeleton lost its frail coherence and tumbled outward, leaving Bruno fairly
exposed within the niche.
With a cry the Aztec
warrior turned in that direction, but ere he could fetch his light to bear upon
the right spot, Ixtli sprung forth to the rescue, hooting like a frightened
owl, as he dashed the light to earth, and, at the same time, deftly tripping
the Indian headlong.
Swift as thought itself
he followed up the advantage thus won, smiting the fallen brave heavily upon
the crown with a clubbed thighbone, depriving him of sensibility for the time
being at least. And then snatching up the still burning light, he called, in
guarded tones, to his white friend:
"Come, brother,
play hunt, now! Fast--not stop here; dat bad for you see by dem so soon. Dat
good you go--like dis way!"
Scarcely realising just
what fresh ruse the Aztec had in mind, but far from recovered from that
horrible fear of death from poisonous fangs, Gillespie submitted, Ixtli
hurrying him away, turning off into what appeared to be a side passage, less
spacious than that to which they had until then confined their retreat.
The young Aztec hastily
explained his present scheme, which was to play the role of searchers as well;
and scarcely had he made that project known, than another difficult test was
offered their courage.
BRUNO caught an
imperfect view of moving figures at no great distance ahead, but ere he could
fairly decide just what they might be, his red-skinned guide swiftly whispered:
"More come look.
You don’t say. Ixtli fool ’em--easy!"
Making not the
slightest attempt to avoid the issue, the young Aztec stepped a little in
advance of Gillespie, thus casting him into partial eclipse, speaking briskly,
as he met the two Indians, only one of whom bore a light:
"It is trouble for
nothing, brothers. There is no sign here. If he saw aught, ’twas in a dream, I
think. And now--hark!"
Even there in the
subterranean recesses something of the wildly excited uproar which followed
Waldo’s rash attempt to go a-fishing after his fellow men, and the sighting of
that awful air-demon by the Indians, could be heard, and, without divining its
actual import, Ixtli adroitly turned it to his own advantage.
"They have found
the strange dog without!" he cried, sharply. "Come, my brothers, else
we will be too late for--hasten, all!"
But only one-half of
the present group obeyed, the two Indians dashing at full speed towards the
main entrance to the city of the dead, leaving Bruno behind, wholly
unsuspected, and Ixtli chuckling glee- fully over the favourable change in the
situation.
"Dey go--we come.
Dis way, brother," the Aztec spoke, moving in the opposite direction,
followed willingly enough by the now pretty well bewildered paleface.
"Whither are we
going?" Bruno felt impelled to ask, after a few moments more of blind
obedience. "How are we going to get out? And my friends,--they must have
been alarmed by that great drum!"
Ixtli made response by
touch rather than in words, and, giving his companion barely time sufficient to
read aright that look of warning, he extinguished the light, leaving themselves
in complete darkness.
Naturally anticipating
fresh danger, Bruno strained his ears to catch at least an inkling of its
precise nature ere the trouble could fairly close in; but only silence
surrounded them,--silence, and an almost palpable gloom.
"Not cat,"
assured Ixtli, in a soft-toned whisper, as he divined the expectations
entertained by his comrade in peril. "Nobody come, now. All gone see what
noise ’bout, yonder. You, me, all right. Best mek no big talk, dough.
Come--see!"
Apparently the young
Aztec found it no easy matter to elect words which should fairly convey his
desired meaning, and, abruptly giving over the effort, he moved on, one hand
lightly closed upon Bruno’s wrist to guard against possible separation in that
utter darkness.
Nothing further was
said until Ixtli again came to a halt, Gillespie giving a low exclamation as he
felt what appeared to be a blank wall before them. Was this no thoroughfare?
Were they blocked in, to perish of starvation, unless earlier discovered by the
red-skinned searchers?
Far from agreeable
thoughts, yet such swiftly flashed across the young man’s brain, lending an
echo of harshness to his voice as he spoke.
"Where are we now,
Ixtli? How are we going to get out of this? If you have led me into a
trap--"
Finger-tips lightly
brushed his lips, then the Aztec explained as well he was able, thanks to his
limited vocabulary.
Escape from the
catacomb by the same route they had taken in seeking refuge there was entirely
out of the question. Even though the redskins might have abandoned the search
in that precise quarter for the time being, thanks to the sudden alarm which
had broken forth in the valley, almost certainly there would be an armed guard
so stationed as to intercept any or all persons who might so attempt to emerge.
This much Bruno
gathered, then took his turn at the verbal oars.
"But we can’t stay
here, man, dear. Nothing to eat or to drink, and my friends worrying over us,
outside. We’ve got to get out; I have, at any rate. The only question is, just
how, and where?"
"Dere one way
go," Ixtli made reply, even his lowered tones betraying more than ordinary
impressiveness, Bruno fancied. "Mebbe easy, mebbe hard. Find dat, when
try. We go dis way. Best be still, dough!"
Bruno was ready enough
to promise all that, just so action was being taken, his uneasiness being by
far too deep for rest or repose. More on account of his uncle and his brother,
though, than for his own safety. He had not yet lost hope of extrication from the
perils which surely surrounded them, not quite abandoned hope of rescuing the
Children of the Sun as well.
Turning abruptly to the
left, Ixtli led the way into what appeared (through the senses of touch and
hearing) to be a narrow, winding tunnel, which presently took an upward
incline, then broadened into a chamber of greater or lesser dimensions; the
faint echoes told Gillespie there was an enlargement of some description, but
the utter darkness veiled all else.
Barely had the two
adventurous youths come to a pause, than dull, uncertain sounds came from
almost directly above their heads; and, after listening for a brief space,
Ixtli disappointedly breathed a fear that they would have to wait for the time
being.
"Why? What’s going
on up yonder? And where are we, anyway?"
Beneath the great
teocalli, Ixtli made answer in his disjointed way of speaking. There the
evil-minded paba, Tlacopa, reigned supreme. And there, almost directly above
their heads, stood the sacrificial stone, upon whose flat surface the Sun
Children would be doomed to suffer the last penalty, provided Tlacopa won his
wicked will.
Bruno thrilled to his
centre with fierce indignation as he, little by little, gathered this
information. Perish by such hideous methods? Give up her fair young life--
For, rather queerly,
considering that Ixtli spoke of both Victo and Glady, he now had thought
of--could see but that one lovely face and shrinking figure,--face and form of
the daughter alone.
Discovery might have
come all too soon, but for Ixtli’s slipping a palm over those indignant lips
and thus smothering the outbreak which the young man could not avoid; then,
recalled to ordinary prudence, Bruno talked and listened by turns.
Ixtli contrived to make
his white brother understand just how they were situated at the time: in a
secret channel of communication with the great war temple, through which
sanctuary he had hoped to lead his friend, thence to escape from the valley
itself, if a favourable chance should offer. Now their way was barred, and they
could only wait. Unless--would Bruno keep close guard over his tongue?
Yes. Anything, rather
than remain wholly idle, like this.
Adding a few minor
cautions, Ixtli took Gillespie by a wrist, and stole noiselessly forward,
climbing upward, over and into a contrivance which Bruno vainly sought to
recognise by the sense of touch, but giving a thrill of amazement when his
guide paused long enough to whisper in his nearest ear:
"Dis war-god body.
Stand up in teocalli, look on kill-stone. Wait; you see, hear, all dat,
now!"
Thanks to the close
association of that night, with all its attendant perils, Bruno was growing
fairly skilful in interpreting the broken sentences of his copper-hued chum,
and he now knew they were moving about within the hollow image of the Aztecan
war-god, Huitzilopochtli, while--
He caught sight of
several small apertures, through which yellow light came dimly, and, almost
without thinking, applied his eyes to the one most convenient, peering forth
upon the broad sacrificial stone, with its foul, blood-stained surface, the
little channels intended to drain off the superfluous hemorrhage, together with
the gloomy, repulsive surroundings. And, too, a most abominable stench appeared
to rise from the altar of death, and Bruno shrunk back with a shiver of
disgust.
"No talk
loud!" softly breathed Ixtli, gripping an arm with force. "Dey kill,
if find now. Look, dat one Tlacopa; big priest, you call. Dem help paba fool
all people; so!"
Although his meaning
was not fully apparent, Bruno caught renewed interest, and once more peered
forth upon the scene, weird and impressive enough, even from a Christian point
of view.
Headed by Tlacopa, a
ceremony of some description was taking place, lesser priests and other
acolytes performing their various parts, the incantations rising now loudly,
now sinking to a hollow monotone, the whole affair being none the less
absorbing when Bruno remembered that, perhaps, it might have some connection
with the vile plots against the Sun Children, if not endangering life itself.
Gillespie likewise took
note of various other graven images; among them one of the not less hideous
war-goddess, Teoyaomiqui, or "divine war death," fitting consort for
the mighty "humming-bird" himself.
Meanwhile, Ixtli, who
appeared to look upon the whole affair as a more or less jolly good jest at the
expense of his superstitious people, took occasion to give his white brother a
few pointers, letting him see how easy it was for false oracles to be
manufactured to order; how certain the lightest wishes of the head priest were
to find speedy fulfilment at all times.
While thus divulging
part of the mysteries of the temple, that ceremony reached a finale, and the
little crowd slowly melted away, leaving but Tlacopa and a select few of his
trusted henchman. And Ixtli certainly caught enough of their talk to alter his
manner most materially.
"Come,
quick!" he fiercely whispered in Bruno’s ear, gripping an arm, and fairly
forcing the young man to accompany his retreat.
Not another word was
spoken before the lower level was reached, and then Gillespie broke the ice,
asking what was the matter.
Dark though it was all
around them, Bruno could tell by sense of touch that his guide was powerfully
agitated, and, though Ixtli clearly hesitated before imparting the asked-for
information, persistence won the point; and then--
Imperfectly though that
discovery was set forth, Gillespie contrived to gather this much: Tlacopa
decreed that the Sun Children should be brought to trial, if not to actual
execution, when the morning sun arose!
"Never!"
fiercely vowed Bruno, all on fire, as he recalled that more than fair face.
"Never,--while I live and draw breath!"
ONCE again Aztotl, the
Red Heron, was bowing humbly before the Children of the Sun God, but now there
was stern grief impressed upon his visage, rather than pure devotion, such as
one might feel at the feet of a divinity.
And the face of Victo
was unusually pale, her lips tightly compressed to keep them from trembling too
visibly, while her arm clasped Gladys with almost fierce love in its warm
strength.
Aztotl glanced upwards
for a moment, then slowly spoke:
"Such are the
commands laid upon thy captain of guards, Daughter of Quetzal’, the Fair God.
He hath been commanded to fetch Victo and Glady to the teocalli, there to
be--no!" with an outbreak of fierce rebellion, drawing his superb figure erect,
and gripping javelin until the springy ash quivered, as though suddenly winning
life for itself. "The gods lie! They are speaking falsely, or--or the paba
lies, when trying to thus interpret the oracle!"
Gladys shrunk away, but
her mother stood firm, seeming to gain in coolness and nerve what this ardent
servant was losing.
"It must be thus,
my good friend," she spoke, in low, even tones. "The word hath come
to a soldier, and obedience is his first duty."
"Not when
obedience means leading to sacrifice--"
"That may never
come, good Aztotl. We have committed no sin, in deed or in thought. The Mother
of Gods will not lay claim to an innocent victim. Or, even then, the right
shall triumph! Tlacopa is powerful, but hath Victo no influence? Lord Hua may
throw his influence to the wrong side, but hath truth no answer?"
"If not truth,
then death!" sternly vowed the captain of the body-guard. "If
Tonatiuh fails to punish the enemies of his daughter, then this right arm shall
hurl the false prince down to Mictlanteuctli, grim lord of the
under-world!"
"What is it all
about, mother?" murmured Gladys, clinging in sore affright to the side of
her Amazonian relative. "Surely the people will not--surely we need not go
forth to--"
A mother’s kiss closed
those quivering lips, and then, with far more assurance than she really could
find in her heart, Victoria bade her child fear nothing; that all would come
aright in a brief while.
Little by little, the
maiden’s terrors were calmed, and then she took position by her parent’s side
with a greater display of nerve than might have been anticipated.
Through all, Aztotl
waited, fiercely silent, held from open rebellion only by the influence of the
woman whose very life was now menaced. And as the Sun Children stood before
him, in readiness to comply with the commands issued by those in high
authority, the Red Heron broke bonds.
"Say but one word,
Daughter of Quetzal’, and all this shall never come to pass! Give me but
permission to--"
"What wouldst thou
do, good Aztotl?"
"Surround the Sun
Children with their loyal body-guard and defend them, while one brave might
strike blow, or hold shield in front of their sacred charge," slowly yet
fiercely declared the captain, eyes telling how dearly he longed to receive
that permission.
But Victo shook her
head in slow negation. She was still cool of brain enough to realise how fatal
such course would be in the end. If one deadly blow should be dealt, the end
could be but one,--annihilation to both defended and defenders.
Then, too, she recalled
the wondrous tidings brought the evening before by Ixtli and his comrade.
Friends were seeking to rescue them, and if only time might be won--it must be
played for, then!
And so, his petition
finally denied, with no other course left open to take, the Red Heron summoned
his picked band and, with the Sun Children in their midst, left the temple,
crossed the plain, and slowly marched into the War God’s teocalli.
In awed silence a vast
number of Aztecs followed that little procession, silent as they, yet clearly
anticipating events of far more than ordinary importance. And thus the
foredoomed women were taken before the great stone of sacrifice, whereupon lay
a snow-white lamb, bound past the possibility of struggling.
Close beside the
prepared sacrifice stood the head priest, Tlacopa, robed for the awesome
ceremony, sacrificial knife in hand, temples crowned as customs dictated, eyes
blazing as vividly as they might if backed by living fire.
Not far distant stood
Huatzin, head bandaged and face none the better looking for his floundering
fall when his sash gave way the evening before. And as he caught the passing
gaze of the woman whom he had so basely persecuted, a repulsive smile showed itself,
the grin of a veritable fiend in human guise.
Sternly cold, and
outwardly unmoved, the captain of guards performed his sworn duty, then in grim
silence awaited the end. And in like manner each man of that carefully selected
band rested upon his arms.
A brief pause, during
which the utter silence grew actually oppressive, then the head priest lifted a
hand as though commanding full attention before he should speak.
Then, in tones which
were by no means loud, yet which were modulated so as to fill that expanse most
perfectly, Tlacopa recited the grave accusations brought against the false
children of the mighty Sun God.
To their evil influence
he attributed the comparative failure of crops which had now cursed their fair
people throughout the past years. Unto them, he claimed, belonged the evil
credit of many untimely deaths which had covered so many proud heads with the
ashes of mourning and of despair. To their door might be traced all of
misfortune with which the favourite children of the mighty gods had been so
sorely afflicted.
In proud silence Victo
listened to this deliberate arraignment, not deigning to interpose denial, or
offer plea in self-defence, until the paba was clearly at an end. And even then
she gazed upon Tlacopa with eyes of scorn, and lips which curled with contempt.
A low murmur from the
eager crowd told how anxious they were to hear more, and, taking her cue from
that, Victo made a graceful motion with her white hand, following it by words
that sounded rarely sweet in their deep mellowness, after the harsh, dry notes
of the paba.
"Who dares to
bring such base charges against the Daughters of Quetzal’? Who are our
accusers, head priest?"
Did Tlacopa shrink from
that queenly presence? If so, ’twas but another cunning device intended to pave
the way to complete success; to catch the fickle fancy of his audience by
rendering his retort all the more effective.
"Who dares accuse
us of wrong-doing?" again demanded the Amazonian mother, speaking for her
child as well, around whose waist her left arm was clinging as a needed
support.
"The Mother of all
the gods!" forcibly replied the priest, now casting aside all presence of
timidity, and gazing into that proud face with eyes which were filled with fire
of hatred and jealousy. "The all-powerful Centeotl hath made known the
awful truth through the lips of the infallible oracle, my children! She hath
declared that no smiles shall be turned towards the children of Anahuac so long
as false prophets disgrace this great city! She hath demanded the
sacrifice--"
"Who can bear
witness to any such demand?" sternly interposed the captain of the
body-guard, unable to listen longer in silence.
Tlacopa flashed an evil
look his way, but from the audience issued another murmur, rising louder until
it took upon itself the shape of words, demanding indubitable proof that the
oracle had indeed spoken thus. And, no longer daring to rely upon his own
authority, Tlacopa turned to the sacrificial stone whereupon lay the helpless
lamb, bowing knee and lifting face as he volubly repeated the customary
invocation; just then it appeared far more nearly an incantation.
Having thus complied
with all the requirements of his office, the paba first kissed his blade of
sacrifice, then seized the lamb and turned it upon its back, one hand holding
it helpless while with the other he ripped the poor beast wide from throat to
tail, then, making a swift cross-slash, laid bare the cavity and exposed the
quivering heart.
Dropping his knife,
Tlacopa grasped this vital organ, fiercely tearing it away, drawing back where
all might see as be lifted the heart on high for inspection.
One brief look appeared
to satisfy his needs, for he gave a fierce shout as he hurled the bleeding
heart towards the accused, then cried:
"An omen! An omen!
The Mother of the Gods claims her victims!"
CONTRARY to the
expectations of Ixtli escape by way of the War God’s temple was barred
throughout the remainder of that eventful night. Tlacopa, the head priest,
together with a number of his acolytes, varying as to force, yet ever too
powerful for any two men to force a passage contrary to the will of their
leader, remained on duty each and every hour. And hence it came to pass that
those early hours found our fugitives still beneath the temple, worn through
loss of sleep and stress of anxiety, yet firmly resolved not to permit that
intended outrage without at least striking one fair blow for the Children of
the Sun.
Slowly enough the time
passed, yet it could hardly be called monotonous. Whenever wearied of their
darksome waiting, the young men would steal again into the hollow image of
Huitzil’, there to utilise the cunningly arranged peepholes, now looking out
upon the priests, or listening to catch such words as fell from the lips of
those nearest the stone of sacrifice.
In this manner Ixtli
contrived to pick up quite a little fund of information, mainly through the
confidences reposed in a certain favoured few of the brotherhood by the chief
paba. And this, in turn, filtered through his lips after the chums once again
retreated to the lower regions for both safety and comfort.
And then Bruno learned
how the adventurous young Aztec, far less superstitious than the vast majority
of his people, thanks to the kindly teaching of Victo, Child of Quetzal’, had
in his explorations discovered so many secrets of the temple and priesthood,
secrets which he now had no scruple in communicating to another of a different
race.
Ixtli told how, on
various occasions, he had lurked behind the scenes while the miraculous
"oracle" was delivering fiat or prophecy, and then he told his white
brother how Tlacopa meant to completely confound the Children of the Sun when
once brought before the gods.
"He tell slave
what say. Slave come dis way. Hide in War God. Wait for time, den tell Tlacopa’s
words!"
A most infernal scheme,
yet the danger of which Bruno could readily recognise, together with the
serious difficulty of refuting any such supernatural evidence.
"Surely your
people will not suffer a few dirty curs to do such horrible wrong to ladies
like-- Why, Ixtli, even the gods you fellows bow the knee to in worship, ought
to rise up in their defence!"
But Ixtli merely
sighed, then spoke in sad tones, explaining how he alone had been taken wholly
into the confidence of the Sun Children. Even the captain of their guards knew
Victo and Glady as but descendants of the great Fair God whom the audacious
trickery of a rival sent far away from the land of his favoured people, to find
an abiding-place in the sun itself.
"He good brave. He
die for dem,--easy! But he not know all. He think drop from sun, to lead people
back to light. If think not so, dat make face turn black; dat make mad
come--great big!"
As was ever the case
when his feeling seemed deeply stirred, Ixtli found it difficult to fully or
fairly explain his sentiments; but Bruno caught sufficient of his meaning to
give a fair guess at the rest.
He found a ray of hope
in the belief that Aztotl at least would defend the Children of the Sun, and
Ixtli predicted with apparent confidence that the members of the body-guard
would stand firm under the Red Heron’s leadership.
Keeping thus upon the
alert throughout the remainder of that night, the young men were able to take
prompt action when the crisis drew nigh.
Ixtli caught the first
inkling of what was coming, and hastily sent Bruno away from the peepholes,
dropping a word in his ear as they both prepared for clean work.
Through a secret entrance,
shaped amidst the drapery which surrounded the pedestal of the mighty Huitzil’,
a slave of the temple crept to play the part of echo to Tlacopa’s evil will;
and scarcely had he secured what was to be a place of waiting and watching than
the attack was made from out the darkness.
Ixtli flung his tunic
over the slave’s head, twisting both ends tightly about his throat, effectually
smothering all attempt at crying aloud for aid, while Bruno clasped arms about
his middle, holding hands powerless to strike or to draw weapon.
A brief struggle, which
produced scarcely any noise, certainly not sufficient to reach the ears of
priest or helper, then the trembling, unnerved slave was bundled down that
narrow passage, to be dumped in a remote corner, and there effectually bound
and gagged by the young men.
All this was performed
without hitch or mishap, and then, nerved to fighting pitch, Ixtli and Bruno
went back beneath the stone of sacrifice, resolved to play their part to the
end in manful fashion.
There was no further
fear of intrusion, for, of course, Tlacopa would never think of endangering his
own evil scheme by risking an exposure such as would follow discovery of his
slave-oracle. As Ixtli truly said, such discovery would end in the paba’s being
slain by his befooled people.
Their patience was
sorely tried, even then, though a goodly portion of the blame belonged to their
fears for the Sun Children, rather than to the actual length of waiting. But
then, amidst the solemn invocations led by the high priest, the body-guard
marched into the Hall of Sacrifice, and Bruno caught his breath sharply as he
beheld--Gladys! Not her mother, just then. For the first minute, only,--Gladys!
Then came the bitter
denunciation by Tlacopa, followed by the coldly dignified words of Victo, after
which the innocent lamb yielded up its life in order that the future might be
predicted through the still quivering heart.
With a fiercely
exultant cry Tlacopa hurled the vital organ towards the accused, it striking
the mother upon an arm, then glancing further to leave an ugly smear upon the
daughter’s shoulder ere falling among the eager multitude, who fought and
struggled to secure at least a morsel of the hideous thing.
"Behold! the gods
hath marked their own!" cried the high priest, his harsh tones fairly
filling the Hall of Sacrifice. "They are guilty of all crimes laid at
their door. They merit death, a thousandfold. The Mother of Gods hath
spoken!"
"To whom but thou,
Tlacopa?" sternly cried the captain of the guards, as he stood firm in
spite of the ominous sounds which were rising from the rear, as well as from
either side.
"She hath spoken
unto me, as her worthy representative on earth."
"And there are
those who say much religion hath turned thy brain, good Tlacopa," retorted
Aztotl, holding his temper fairly well under control, yet with blazing eyes and
stiffening sinews. "Are thy ears alone to receive such important
communications as--"
"Silence, thou
scoffer!" fiercely cried the high priest, lifting quivering hands on high
as though about to call down the thunders of an outraged deity upon that
impious head. "She who hath spoken once may deign to speak again.
Harken,--hear the oracle!"
Doubtless this was cue
for the slave of the temple to repeat the words placed within its mouth, but
that slave was literally unable to speak a word for himself, let alone others.
Yet,--the oracle was not wholly silenced!
"Talk out, or I
will!" fiercely muttered Bruno, giving Ixtli a violent punch in the side.
"talk out for the Sun Children!"
The young Aztec needed
no further prompting, loving Victo and Glady as he did, hating and despising
the high priest. And in shrill, clear tones came the wondrous oracle:
"Tlacopa lies!
Tlacopa is an evil dog! The Mother of the Gods loves and will defend her
friends, the Children of the great and good Quetzal’."
How much more Ixtli
might have said, had he been granted further grace, will never be known.
Tlacopa shrank away from the speaking statue as from a living death, but then
he rallied, savagely thundering:
" ’Tis a lying
oracle! ’Tis an evil impostor who has-- An omen! A true omen, my children! The
evil ones hath been branded for the knife! Seize them! To the sacrifice!"
That vicious cry was
swiftly taken up, but the body-guard closed in around the menaced women,
presenting arms to all that maddened horde, while their captain sternly warned
all good people to fall aside and make way for the Children of the Sun.
Then that secret
entrance was flung wide, permitting two excited young men to issue, Tlacopa
reeling aside from a blow dealt him by Bruno’s clenched fist, as that worthy
hastened to join forces with the body-guard.
THIS double
appearance--for Ixtli kept fair pace with his hot-headed white brother--caused
no little stir, and added considerable to the partial bewilderment which had
fallen over that audience.
Prince Hua shouted
forth savage threats, but he, as well as the paba, was fairly demoralised for
the moment by the totally unexpected failure of their carefully laid schemes.
Seeing his chance,
Aztotl bade his men escort the Sun Children from the Hall of Sacrifice back to
their own abiding-place, barely noticing his son, and paying no heed at all to
the disguised paleface.
With spears ready for
stroke or parry as occasion might demand, the guard faced about and slowly
moved away from the great stone of sacrifice, rigid of face, cool of nerve,
ready to die if must be, yet never once thinking of disobedience to orders, or
of playing cur to save life.
Almost involuntarily
the crowd parted before that measured advance, giving way until a fair pathway
lay open, along which the body-guard moved with neither haste nor hesitation,
outwardly ignorant of the fact that ugly cries and dangerous gestures were
coming thicker and faster their way.
Scores of other voices
caught up the fierce cry given by the head priest, and now the temple was
ringing throughout with demands that the false Sun Children should pay full
penalty, should be haled to the sacrificial stone, there to purge themselves
without further delay!
Others showed an
inclination to favour the descendants of Quetzal’, and thus the widely
conflicting shouts and cries formed a medley which was fairly deafening.
For one of his fierce
temper the Red Heron showed a marvellous coolness throughout that perilous
retreat, and never more than during the first few seconds. Then a single
injudicious word or too hasty movement might easily have precipitated a fight,
where the vast audience would surely have brought disaster, whether the
majority so willed or not.
Holding his men well in
hand, moving only as rapidly as prudence justified, yet losing neither time nor
ground, where both were of such vital importance; Aztotl forced a passage from
the great Hall of Sacrifice down to the level, then out into the open air,
where one could see and fight if needs be.
Through all this, Bruno
Gillespie held the position he had taken, one hand gripping tightly his
maquahuitl, but placing his main dependence upon the revolver which nestled
conveniently within the folds of his sash, one nervous forefinger touching the
curved trigger.
He could not help
seeing that the danger was great. He felt certain that they could not retreat
much farther without coming to blows, when the odds would be overwhelmingly
against them. Yet never for an instant did he regret having taken such a
decided step; not for one moment did he give thought to himself.
Almost within reach of
his hand, if extended at the length of his arm, moved the fair maiden whose
face and form had made so deep an impression upon his mind and his heart. She
was in peril. She needed aid. That was enough!
Then the briefly stunned
Tlacopa rushed forth from his desecrated temple, wildly flourishing his arms,
furiously denouncing both the Sun Children and their body-guard, thundering
forth the curses of all the gods upon the heads of those who refrained from
arresting the evil ones.
"The mighty Mother
of Gods calls for her own! Seize them! Strike down the impious dogs who dare
attempt to defraud our Mother! Seize them! To the sacrifice--to the
sacrifice!"
Equally loud of voice,
the Prince Hua came leaping down to the sandy level, urging his people to the
assault, offering almost fabulous sums as reward for the brave Aztec whose arm
should lay yonder traitorous Red Heron prone in the dust.
The crisis came, and
the dogs of war were let loose.
An arrow whizzed
narrowly past the feathered helmet worn by the captain of the guards. A stone
came humming out of sling, to be deftly dashed aside by Aztotl’s shield ere it
could fairly smite that gold-crowned head as, outwardly calm and composed,
Victo aided her trembling daughter on towards the Temple of the Sun God, where
alone they might look for safety.
But would it be found
even there?
No! For, at savage howl
from lips of the high priest, a strong force of armed redskins took up position
at the teocalli, blocking each one of the four flights of stone steps in order
to intercept the body-guard, while still closer pressed the yelling,
screeching, frantic heathen of both sexes and all ages.
Aztotl saw how he had
been flanked, but made no sign, even while slightly turning course for another
temple at less distance, a single word being sufficient to post his
true-hearts.
So far not a single
blow had been struck by the retreating party, although great provocation had
been given them. More than one of their number was bleeding, yet all were
afoot, and still capable of holding ranks. Then--
Bravest of the brave, a
man among men in spite of his tender years, Ixtli laid down his life in defence
of his idolised Victo.
From one of that
maddened rabble came a heavy stone, flung with all the power of a sinewy arm
and great sling. Smitten fairly between the eyes, the poor lad’s skull was
crushed, as a giant hand might mash an eggshell.
One gasping sigh, then
the lad sunk to earth, dead ere he could fairly measure his length thereupon.
For a single instant
Aztotl seemed as one stupefied, but then an awful uproar burst from his
labouring lungs, and he hurled his heavy javelin full at yonder murderer,
winging it with a father’s curses.
Swift flew the dart,
but fully as quickly sank that varlet, the head of the spear scraping his
skull, to pass on and smite with death one even more evil, if that might be.
Full in the throat
Tlacopa was stricken, the broad blade of copper tearing a passage through, and
the shaft following after for the greater portion of its length. Unable to
scream, though his visage was hideously distorted by mingled fear and agony,
the high priest caught the wood in both hands, even as he reeled to partly
turn, then fall upon his face, dead,--thrice dead!
With a wild thrill of
grief and horror, Bruno Gillespie saw his red brother reel in cruel death, and,
for the moment heedless of his own peril, which surely was doubled thereby, he
sprang that way, to stoop and catch that quivering shape in his eager hands.
Too late, save to show
his comradeship. That heavy stone had only too surely performed its grim
mission. Dead! Poor lad: dead, while seeking to save another!
With a fierce cry of
angry mourning, Bruno lifted the mutilated corpse in his arms, trying to toss
it over a shoulder, to bear away from risk of trampling under the heedless feet
of the yelling heathen; but it was not to be. Another stone smote his arm near
the elbow, breaking no bone, yet so benumbing the member as to temporarily
disable it, causing that precious burden to drop to earth once more.
Then came an awful
outcry from the people, whom the sight of their high-priest reeling in death
had, for a few fleeting seconds, fairly stupefied. Cries which meant much to
the living, and before which even that band of true-hearts receded with
slightly quickened pace.
With the others fell
back Bruno, leaving his hand-wood lying beside the lifeless corpse of his
redskinned brother-at-heart, but drawing forth the weapon which he knew so much
better how to use.
The fierce lust of
vengeance now seized upon him, heart and brain. He shouted forth grim defiance
to that howling crew, and as the deadly missiles came in thickening clouds,
carrying death and wounds to the body-guard of the Sun Children, he opened
fire, shooting to kill.
Entirely without
firearms themselves, and in all probability ignorant of such an instrument of
destruction, this might have produced a far more beneficial result under other
circumstances. As it was now, few, if any, took heed of what they could not
hear above that awful tumult, and those who felt the boring lead never rose up
to give their testimony.
Closer crowded the
superstition-ridden heathen, showering missiles of all descriptions upon the
body-guard, confounding all with the one to whose javelin their head priest
owed his death,--only to recoil once more, in fierce awe, as another victim of
high rank paid forfeit his life for the death of Ixtli, sole offspring of
Aztotl, the Red Heron.
LOUDER than ever rose
the voice of Lord Hua, after witnessing the fall of his ally, the high priest.
In spite of the great odds against the body-guards, he began to fear lest his
intended prey should even yet slip through his evil clutches.
Fiercer than ever rang
forth his curses and imprecations upon the head of the Aztec who thus dared the
vengeance of all the gods by lifting hand in arms against the anointed.
And then, his own nerve
strung by those very efforts to inspire others, Lord Hua forged nearer the
front, eager to behold all his hated enemies crushed to earth as by a single
stroke. And then--
With vicious force he
hurled his javelin straight for the white throat of the Sun Child who had
scorned his fawning advances, and only the ever ready eye, the true hand, the
strong arm of Aztotl again warded off grim death from the Fair God’s Child.
Caught upon that trusty
shield one instant, the next turned towards its original owner, to quiver for
the barest fraction of time in that vengeful grip, then, gloriously true to the
hero’s will and intent, sped that javelin home.
Home to the false heart
of false prince; grinding through skin and flesh and bones, cleaving that hot
organ with broad blade of tempered copper, forcing one vicious screech from
those tortured lungs, then causing that bulk to measure its length upon the
blood-sprinkled sands.
Once again the heathen
involuntarily recoiled, as death claimed a high victim. Once more the band of
true-hearts slightly quickened their pace towards the temple, now nigh at hand.
Yet those lessened numbers never once betrayed fear, or doubt, or faltering.
Grimly true to their trust, they fell back in the best of order, fighting as
they moved, beating back the heathen hosts, as though each man was a god, and
their strong arms a wall of steel.
Here and there a
true-heart sank to earth with the hand of death veiling his eyes, but he died
in silence; no cry of fear, no moan of pain, no pitiful appeal for mercy at the
hands of his maddened people. They knew their sworn duty, and like true hearts
they trod that narrow path unto the very end.
Although with gradually
lessening numbers, the body-guard remained practically the same. Still in a
hollow square, with the Children of the Sun God in the centre, they slowly,
doggedly fell back, ever facing the ravening foe, ever moving shoulder to
shoulder as a single man.
Then, just as Bruno
Gillespie was refilling his emptied revolver, the base of the tall pyramidal
temple was won, and still protecting their fair-haired charge, the body-guard
ascended to the second terrace, beating back such of the wild rabble as pressed
them too closely.
Again that wonderful
barking-death came into play, and Bruno felt a strangely savage joy gnawing at
his heart as he saw more than one stalwart warrior reel dizzily back from his
hot hail.
"For Ixtli, you
curs! That for Ixtli! Down,--and eat dirt, dogs!"
Scarcely could his own
ears catch those sounds, although he shouted with the full power of his strong
young lungs, so indescribably horrid was the din and tumult.
Up another flight of
steps, then yet another, although the crazed rabble was not pressing them so
very hard, just now. Still, their number forbade a fourfold division as yet,
and Aztotl feared lest the blood-ravening mob attempt to head off their flight
by taking possession of the other stairs, thus being first to occupy yonder
flat arena high above the earth, whereupon he hoped to still protect the Sun
Children, even though he must lay down his life to maintain their lease.
Lacking an acknowledged
leader, the furious mass thought only of crushing the faithful band by mere
weight of numbers, taking no thought in advance, else the end might well have
been precipitated.
Arrows, spears,
javelins, stones from slings, poured upon the body-guard in almost countless
numbers, now and then claiming a true-heart as victim, whereupon the rabble
howled afresh in drunken triumph; but where a single man died in the
performance of his oath-bound duty, half a score heathen bit the dust and
grovelled out his remnant of life yonder where most viciously trampled the feet
of his fellow brutes.
Pausing barely long
enough to beat back the crazed rush which came so close upon their retreat, the
band of brothers would then slowly, doggedly fall back another of those mighty
steps, with bared teeth and blazing eyes, longing to end all by one joyous
plunge into the thick of their assailants, dying with their chosen dead!
Five separate times
that upward flight, and five times the grim pause to give death another portion
of his red feast. Five times the blood-lapping mob dashed against the band of
brothers. Five times they were hurled back, leaving more dead and dying there
to mark the savage struggle.
And then, sadly
decimated at each halt, less in numbers as they passed farther from earth to
climb nearer the blue sky, the survivors won the crest of the teocalli, still
fighting, still beating back such as followed their steps more closely.
Ere that brilliant
retreat began, ’twould have taken close ranks for the body-guard to find
standing-room upon the temple-top; but now--Aztotl called for a division of his
force, since there were four separate avenues of approach, of which the enemy
was prompt to avail itself.
"For the Sun
Children, my brothers!" he cried, his voice rising even above that awful
tumult and turmoil. "Guard them with your lives!"
Little need to waste
breath in so adjuring. Of all thus enlisted, not one of the true-hearts but
proved worthy the trust. Not one brave who took care for his own life. Not one
but was ready to die in order to save; and thus far not a single wound had won
so far as either Child of the Fair God.
Even now while the
heathen were raging more viciously than ever, crowding each terrace and jamming
each flight of steps to the verge of suffocation, strong arms were shielding
them, true hearts were thinking how best they might be served.
Time and again Aztotl
warded away winged death as it sought to claim Victo for its prey. And Bruno
Gillespie, no whit less brave if somewhat lacking in warlike experience, made
Gladys his especial care, sending shot or dealing knife-thrust in her defence,
barely giving thought to his own safety as a side issue.
Those broad terraces
bore ugly pools and irregular patches of red blood. The various flights of
stone steps grew slippery and uncertain as they likewise began to steam. Yet
forward and upward pressed the howling mob, and desperately fought the doomed
body-guard above.
Faster fly the deadly
missiles, too many by far for even the keenest eye to guard against them all.
One and another of those gallant defenders drop away; only because death had
claimed them, not because of fear or of bodily anguish.
Aztotl staggers,--an
arrow is quivering in his broad bosom,--but still he fights on, dealing death
with each blow of his blood-dripping hand-wood. A stone lays open his
brow,--but heavier and faster plays his terrible weapon. A javelin flashes
briefly, then the red copper vanishes from sight, while the ashen shaft slowly
dyes crimson, as the hot life-blood issues.
A last, dying stroke,
and the Red Heron sinks at the feet of his adoration, faithful unto the last,
his brave soul going forth to join with that of Ixtli; the last of a gallant
family.
Victo gives a wild cry
of vengeance, then snatches up bow and quiver where let fall by a death-smitten
warrior, and wings swift death to the slayer of her captain of the guard.
An awful melee, where
the odds were momentarily increasing; where one man was forced to do the work
of a score; where death inevitable awaited all, unless a miracle should
intervene. And that miracle--
Shrilly rang forth the
voice of Victoria Edgecombe as, amidst the fury of battle, she caught sight of
the air-ship swiftly darting that way through the clear atmosphere, bent on
saving, if saving might be.
The peculiar sound
which attended the exploding of a dynamite cartridge heralded the death of more
than one Aztec, and, as the swift rattle of revolvers added to the uproar,
there was an involuntary recoiling, a terrified shrinking, which was employed
to the best advantage by the air-voyagers.
The aerostat barely
landed upon the top of the temple, before Cooper Edgecombe, with a wild scream
of ecstatic joy, caught his wife in his arms and hurried her into the car,
while Waldo and uncle Phaeton aided Bruno.
AND Bruno clung fast to
the half-swooning maiden, so that two in place of one had to be assisted by
uncle and nephew!
Barely a score of seconds
thus employed, then the gallant air-ship responded to the touch of master-hand,
and floated away from the bloody temple-top with its increased burden, even as
the last survivor of the Sun Children’s body-guard sank down in death.
A brief stupor came
over the amazed heathen at sight of this awful air-devil from whose sides spat
forth invisible death; but then, as they divined at least a portion of the
truth, as they saw their longed-for victims thus borne bodily away, a revulsion
came, and, amid the most hideous howls and screeches, missiles flew towards the
air-ship, menacing sudden death to all therein.
But fate would not have
it thus, and, under the guidance of that master-hand, the aeromotor flew higher
and farther, quickly leaving behind all peril from javelins, darts, arrows, or
stones from slings. And but one of their number had suffered aught: Bruno lay
as one dead, blood flowing from a stone-gash over an eye, but with one hand
still gripping the butt of an empty pistol; his other arm was--around the Sun
Daughter’s waist!
And Gladys? First she
shrunk back with a gasping cry of mingled fear and grief; only to quickly
recover and--did she kiss that curiously spotted, streaked face?
Waldo afterwards
declared she certainly did, for that a moment later he saw some of that
moistened stain upon her quivering lips; but Waldo was ever extravagantly fond
of a jest, and it may be--never mind!
Not until the air-ship
was safely past peril from yonder howling, raving lunatics in bronze did
Professor Featherwit give heed to aught else, and by that time Victoria had
left the ardent embrace of her husband, to care for the elder Gillespie, whose
single-hearted devotion all through that bloody retreat and bloodier struggle
upon the temple had not wholly escaped her notice.
Under such tender
ministrations, Bruno quickly revived, and, after assuring himself that the
Children of the Sun were alive and unharmed, while the Lost City was now left
far behind them, he huskily begged uncle Phaeton to descend to earth, where he
might find water enough to remove what remained of that loathsome disguise!
But Professor
Featherwit was far too shrewd a general to take any unnecessary risks. His last
glimpse of yonder valley showed him hundreds of armed redskins rushing at top
speed for the various passes by which that circle of hills could be
over-passed, and he knew that chase would be made as long as the faintest ray
of hope lured the Aztecs on.
Thus it came that no
halt was made until the inland reservoir was reached, where there could be no
possible danger in making a temporary landing. And then Bruno stole away in hot
haste, both to wash his person and to reclothe it in garments not quite so
ridiculous as he now felt that savage rig must appear.
"Just as though the
little woman wasn’t used to see fit-outs like that, old man," mocked
Waldo, the irrepressible. "She’ll go scare at you in this rig; see if she
doesn’t, now!"
Whether or no Gladys
was actually frightened as Bruno made his appearance, need not be decided here;
but one fact remains: she acted a vast dead shyer than when she saw her gallant
defender lying as if dead, with the red blood flowing over his face.
Naturally enough,
Cooper Edgecombe seemed fairly crazed by his joy. After so many long years of
hopeless grief and wistful longing, to find his loved ones, safe and sound, far
more beautiful than of yore! Surely enough to turn the gravest of men into a laughing,
jesting, voluble lad!
But throughout it all
ran a vein of sadness and of mourning. Neither Aztotl the noble, nor Ixtli the
gallant, could so soon be forgotten. And more than one pair of eyes grew dim,
more than one voice turned husky, as mention was made of both life and
death,--peace to their ashes!
Heavily burdened as the
air-ship now was, it would be unwise to add more, and so but a few minor
articles were removed from the cavern, which had for so long sheltered the
exiled aeronaut, then the lever was touched, and the vessel rose slowly into
air, making one leisurely circuit of the lake, in order to show the Children of
the Sun where their husband and father came so perilously nigh to entering upon
a subterranean voyage to the far-away Pacific. And, luckily as it appeared,
they were just in time to see that "big suck" drag another huge tree
down into its ever hungry maw.
Not until the shades of
night again began to settle over the earth did the professor permit another
halt, but then many miles lay between that Lost City of the Aztecs and their
present position, and, after selecting a pleasant spot for alighting,
preparations for their first al-fresco meal in company were begun.
That proved to be a
pleasant meal, and yet a more pleasant evening there in the wilderness,--the
first, but by no means the last, partaken of,--for, now they need no longer
fear the heathen, Professor Featherwit was eager to more thoroughly explore
that strange land.
Still, the air-ship was
inconveniently crowded, and that helped to cut explorations short. Then, too,
Cooper Edgecombe was naturally eager to return to civilisation once more,
especially as he now had his heart’s dearest desire, wife and daughter, each
peerless in her peculiar way.
Thus it came to pass that
the terra incognita was abandoned for the time being, Professor Featherwit
striking that wide path of ruin which marked the course of the tornado, then
sailing leisurely towards the point of their initial departure, improving the
opportunity by giving a neat little lecture concerning tornadoes in general,
and that one in particular.
"Which totally
exploded so many absurd theories held up to date," was his proud
assertion; and then he went on to explain just how, and why, and wherefore--
Why dwell longer? The
tale I set out to narrate is finished. The unknown land has been penetrated,
and at least a portion of its marvels has been inspected; imperfectly, no
doubt, but that may be attributed to circumstances which were past control.
And should the still
curious reader ask, "Is it all true? Is there actually such a place as the
Lost City? And are the people who live in that town really and truly the same
race as once inhabited Old Mexico?"--to all such, I can hardly do better
than this: there was a Territory of Washington. There is now a State of
Washington. Within that State may be found a range, or system of mountains,
known to the world as the Olympics. And within the wide scope of country which
lies nestling inside of that mountain system may to this day be found--
But, after all, a
little parable which Waldo Gillespie read to a certain doubting Thomas, on the
very evening of the day which changed Gladys Edgecombe, spinster, into Mrs.
Bruno Gillespie, may better serve in this connection.
"After all, I don’t
believe there is any such place or people," declared Doubting Thomas,
nodding his head vigorously.
"Is that so?"
mildly queried our good friend, Waldo. "Let me give you a little pointer,
old man. Once upon a time, a man by the name of John Smith was being tried for
stealing a fat hog. The State brought three reputable witnesses to swear that
they actually saw the theft committed, while the best the defence could offer
was to declare that they could produce at least a dozen honest citizens who
would make oath to the fact that they did not witness the crime. So--moral:
"We six fairly
honest people saw both the Lost City and its inhabitants. Scores of equally
reliable persons never saw either. Which sort of evidence weighs the most, my
good fellow?"
Gentlemen of the jury,
the verdict rests with you!
THE END.