“Maybe our hut door was left unguarded because the natives know we can’t run away,” he speculated. “That must be it.”
Turning over various plans in his mind, Jack went quickly back to rejoin his friends. He revealed the situation, and then made his proposal.
“I’ll hit for Cuya alone. If I can make it, I’ll send help. If I fail, you’ll be no worse off than you are now.”
“No Jack.” The voice was Mr. Livingston’s. Unobserved by the Scouts, he had arisen from his pallet of straw.
“You’re feeling better!” Jack cried.
“My fever has mostly gone,” the Scout leader answered. “I’m weak in my legs, but otherwise quite strong. I can make it, if the decision is to pull out of here. But we must all stick together.”
Jack’s gaze fell upon Pedro and he remained silent. He knew that Mr. Livingston, although remarkably better was not as strong as he believed. And it would be utterly impossible to take the guide with them.
Pedro himself solved the latter problem, by declaring that under no circumstance would he risk trying to leave the hut.
“We may be able to forage a little food in the huts,” Jack said dubiously. “And if we’re real lucky, we may come upon an Indian canoe.”
“Whatever we do, we’ll have to do it fast,” Ken urged. “Our chances to get away lessen every minute.”
“Okay, let’s go,” proposed War. “Anything’s better than this hut.”
Thinking of Pedro, Jack still hesitated. “Go,” the guide advised. “Send help. Go!”
“We’ll make it to Cuya somehow,” Jack assured him. “Before you know it, we’ll be back here for you.”
Their minds now made up, the four Scouts quitted the hut. War and Willie supported Mr. Livingston, while Jack and Ken went ahead to search for supplies.
They were midway through the deserted village when an indistinct figure glided toward them. The Scouts halted, and waited tensely.
Then they saw that it was Ino, the Medicine Man.
Strangely, he spoke no word, but motioned for them to follow him. At the same time, he pressed into Jack’s hand two canteens of water, and a supply of concentrated food.
“Canteens!” the crew leader exclaimed. “Not ours either! This concentrated food though, is some that must have been taken from Hap, War and Willie when they were captured.”
“Ino’s trying to help us!” Ken cried. “Maybe he was responsible for everyone being away from the village. Our pal!”
Obedient to the medicine man’s gestures, the Scouts followed him through the empty village. Walking fast, Ino conducted them along a rugged path. They came to a spring where he permitted everyone to drink deeply and fill the canteens.
Jack noticed another trail leading upward at a steep angle. He turned as if to take it, only to have Ino reprimand him sharply. The medicine man pointed to the other path which descended.
“Follow trail,” he ordered.
“Say, you speak pretty fair English,” Jack remarked. “Thanks for helping us out of this mess. But before we go, how about telling us who you really are?”
“Yeah, who are you?” Willie demanded.
“Me Ino.”
“He answers that way to everything,” War chuckled. “For once, it came exactly right! He doesn’t understand much we say, but he’s our friend just the same.”
Jack had his own opinion of Ino’s comprehension. Nevertheless, he kept his thoughts to himself.
Grasping Ino’s rough hand, he pressed it in token of gratitude. He then offered Mr. Livingston a supporting arm, and began the long trek.
“‘Follow trail—’” Willie mimicked the old medicine man. “That’s all very nice. But where does the darn thing lead?”
The Scouts had paused on the path to let Mr. Livingston rest. Since leaving Ino at the spring, they had walked as fast as the rough ground would permit.
“This trail leads to the river, I suspect,” commented Ken. “We may find a balsa there.”
“Probably with our names engraved on it,” Jack returned ironically. “Everything’s too convenient! Why was Ino so eager to have us get away?”
“He felt sorry for us,” War answered.
Jack nodded thoughtfully. “I’m convinced Ino isn’t a native,” he said. “He understands English pretty well.”
“That ‘follow trail’ of his, popped out very easily,” agreed Ken. “But if he’s a white man, why didn’t he reveal himself to us?”
“Yeah, why does he live here with the natives?” Willie demanded. “He’d have to have a strong motive.”
“A lost gold mine perhaps, or the Inca city,” Jack suggested reflectively.
“You think Ino may be a trader who stumbled onto some secret after getting in the good graces of the Indians?”
“It could be. I’m sure Ino wanted to get us away from the village while the natives were gone. You noticed how sharply he spoke when I started to take that other trail by the spring.”
“I did!” Willie exclaimed. “He was afraid we’d go that way.”
“That path must lead to something Ino doesn’t want us to see,” Jack went on with conviction. “If we weren’t in such a tough spot—”
“We have to go on,” Ken urged, glancing at Mr. Livingston. “Right now, too.”
Supported by Willie and Ken, the Scout leader dragged himself along. He was shaking again, and his teeth chattered. Finally he halted.
“No use kidding ourselves, boys. I’ll never last. You fellows go on without me.”
“Never!” Jack replied. “We’ll carry you.”
“That wouldn’t work, and you know it, Jack. Even without me, you’ll have a tough time getting back to Cuya.”
“We’ll never leave you,” Ken insisted.
Mr. Livingston lacked the strength to argue. Sagging down by a tree, he sipped water which War gave him.
Jack, Ken and Willie drew aside to discuss their situation. In whispers, they agreed that without natives to help carry their leader, they never could make it. Even if they were lucky enough to find a canoe or balsa, they could not expect to get farther than the broken bridge.
“Hap’s got to rest a few minutes, no matter what we do,” Jack said, thinking it over. “Meanwhile, one of us should go ahead to look for a canoe. I’ll slip back to the spring to see where that other path leads.”
“Curiosity will prove your finish yet,” Ken predicted soberly.
“We may be close to the sacred Inca City, Ken. Before we leave here, I want to satisfy myself on that point.”
Further discussion ended with a decision that Jack should explore the trail leading from the spring. Willie would try to reach the river to look for a canoe.
“Both of you, hurry!” Ken advised. “If the natives return to their village and discover we’ve walked off—curtains!”
“If I’m not back in half an hour—before dawn—start for the river without me,” Jack advised grimly.
After the two Scouts had gone their separate ways, Ken settled down to wait beside Mr. Livingston and War. He was plenty worried. Hap kept throwing off a protective jacket. At one moment he suffered chills, and the next, seemed to burn with high fever.
“That medicine man’s dope wasn’t so wonderful after all!” War scoffed.
“Hap is better today, even so,” Ken replied. “If he had a day to get on his feet, we might make it out of here.”
“A day! We’ll be lucky to have another hour of freedom!”
The first streaks of light were lining the horizon, and still neither Willie nor Jack returned. Nervously, Ken paced up and down the path.
“Listen!” he suddenly exclaimed.
From a far distance, high within the mountain, could be heard a strange, weird cry. The sound seemed to arise from many throats.
“A chant to the dawn!” Ken declared. “These Indians must be sun worshipers, just as were the ancient Incas!”
“There should be a temple near here, Ken. Maybe Jack was right about that hidden Inca city!”
“Right or not, I wish he’d get back. It’s clear now why the village was deserted. The natives all went off to greet the dawn with special ceremonies.”
“Someone’s coming now.” War suddenly warned.
As the two waited tensely, a low whistle told them that it was Willie who approached. He came up a moment later, panting from the fast climb.
“Did you reach the river?” Ken demanded.
Willie nodded. “Couldn’t find a canoe or a balsa,” he reported. “If we had more time—”
“Sure, if we just had more time,” Ken echoed.
Sorely beset, he hesitated in making a decision. As he turned over various plans in his mind, Jack came into sight. Greatly relieved that the crew leader had returned safely, Ken grasped his hand. “Learn anything, boy?” he demanded hopefully.
“The path leads to a solid wall of rock. But get this! I found a gap that looks as if it may be a tunnel. I didn’t dare take time to investigate it.”
“Not the hidden city you were sure you’d find, Jack?”
“That passageway may lead to it, Ken! I could hear natives close by, yelling and chanting. Couldn’t see anyone though.”
“What’ll we do?” Ken demanded. “Here we are on the verge of an important discovery, but our situation is desperate. If we try an escape by river, we’re not even certain of having a balsa.”
“We could hide out for a day and hope Hap will get stronger.”
“Our supplies are low now,” Ken said, frowning. “Another thing, once the natives take after us, they’ll try the river first of all. How far away is this tunnel through the rocks?”
“Close by, Ken. It’s a steep climb though.”
“Any chance to find a good hide-out up there?”
“The rocks near the tunnel entrance offer some protection. Better than this, but not good.”
“Let’s make for it then,” Ken suddenly advised.
They told Mr. Livingston of their plan, and he nodded agreement. Ken hoisted him onto his back in a fireman’s carry, toting him as far as the spring. There they splashed water on his fevered face, and went on again. When the path became very steep, the Scout leader managed to walk with support on either side.
Presently they reached the ridge to find themselves surrounded by rocks which had weathered into weird shapes. As they examined the passage entranceway through the great mass of twisted stone, Jack suddenly became tense.
“Listen!” he bade the others.
The chanting in the distance had ceased. But the Scouts could hear the hum of voices coming closer, and the pounding of feet on hard stone.
“The natives are returning this way!” Jack muttered. “Take cover!”
Quickly, the party retreated behind the eroded rocks, flattening themselves on the rough floor. Moments passed.
Then single file, like a swarm of hornets, the warriors began to pour out of the tunnel. The procession continued for so long that the Scouts lost count of those who passed through.
Finally, no more came. After waiting another ten minutes, Jack crept out to investigate. He returned to report that the natives had returned to their village and that the passageway seemed empty.
“I went a short distance in,” he told the others excitedly, “I could see daylight ahead, so the tunnel must be short. I thought I could make out the ruins of an old roadway.”
“The ancient Inca city,” murmured Mr. Livingston, pulling himself to a sitting position. “Our goal?”
“I’m not sure, but I think so! If we dare press on, we’ll soon know. What do you say?”
“Let’s go,” War urged instantly. “We can’t be any worse off than we are now.”
“Except that the city may be regarded as sacred,” Jack pointed out. “If we were found there, it could mean our finish.”
No one spoke for several minutes. Then Mr. Livingston gave answer by trying to pull himself to his feet. “We go on,” he said grimly. “Our chance to escape by the river already is gone. We must hide at least until nightfall.”
“Sure, and while we’re waiting, why not learn all we can!” cried War, well pleased with the decision.
The passageway, though narrow, permitted the Scouts to walk very nearly upright. With Jack leading they groped their way along the smooth rocks. At length, they came into the open once more.
Blinking as they gazed directly into the bright morning sun, the Scouts looked about. Below rolled a green sea of forest and the winding river.
Beneath their tired feet were the remains of an ancient roadway, leading on to a large, clear area devoid of all save a few scrub trees.
“Where’s the sacred city?” demanded War.
Mr. Livingston and the other Explorers were too disappointed to answer.
Instead of the old Inca ruins they had expected to find, only a barren scene spread before their eyes.
The disappointment of the five was so great that for a time no one made any comment on the failure to reach the ancient Inca city.
Leaving his friends near the tunnel exit, Jack went on to see what he could discover. Upon his return, he reported that the area’s chief attraction was a deep quarry pool.
“This ends our search, I guess,” he admitted ruefully. “When first I found the tunnel, I thought it must lead to the hidden city. No such luck.”
“With natives in the village below us, we can’t hope to escape before nightfall,” Ken said gravely. “Let’s find a hide-out until dark.”
Selecting a rock shelter not far from the quarry lake, the Scouts scooped out a bed for Mr. Livingston in the earth.
“Don’t worry about me, boys,” he advised as they took turns staying beside him. “The fever is down again. I feel better.”
At lunch time, the Scouts doled out only skimpy portions of the concentrated food Ino had given them.
“At least we have enough water,” Willie remarked, drinking deeply from one of the canteens. “We can refill these at the spring when we slip out tonight.”
“I wish we could find Ino again,” Ken said. “He might help us get a balsa.”
The thought kept nagging at him, and finally he went out through the tunnel to see what chance he would have of reaching the medicine man. He was gone three hours, so long that the others became very uneasy over his absence.
“No luck,” he reported as he rejoined the group. “I couldn’t get near the village. It’s swarming with natives, and they’re mighty excited about something!”
“Our disappearance probably,” War commented.
“It’s more than that, I think. They seemed to be entertaining a distinguished visitor—another chief probably.”
“Then maybe this is our chance to sneak away!” Willie proposed. “Did you find a balsa?”
“Couldn’t reach the river. Natives everywhere. I didn’t see Ino either. Until nightfall there’s nothing to do but wait here.”
“We might swim,” War proposed with a grin. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. I sure could go for a nice dip in the quarry.”
“How would you ever get out?” Jack discouraged him. “Those rock walls are sheer.”
“I’ve been looking it over. A long rock shelf runs along one side. I made a rope out of vines, and you guys can haul me up after I’ve had my swim.”
“You think of everything, don’t you!” Jack exclaimed. “What if the rope should break?”
“It won’t. I made it strong.”
“Let’s see that rope,” Jack demanded.
He tested it, grudgingly admitting that War had done a good job.
“A swim is pretty risky,” he said weakening. “What if the natives should decide to pop up here while you’re taking your dip?”
“We can post a guard to watch the tunnel. What d’you say?”
“I wouldn’t mind a swim myself,” Jack admitted, sorely tempted. “What do you think, Hap?”
Mr. Livingston knew that both boys were excellent swimmers. He told them they might go ahead, but to make the dip a brief one.
Willie posted himself at the entranceway to the tunnel, promising that if he saw anyone approaching on the trail, he would whistle twice.
Jack and War stripped to their shorts and dived from the rocky ledge deep into the cooling waters. Down, down, down, they went into the dark depths, enjoying the descent.
Finally, growing short of air, Jack pulled up his head and came to the surface, gulping air.
War broke water close by, and swam in a circle with a smooth, easy crawl stroke. Above, on the rock ledge, Ken and Mr. Livingston watched somewhat anxiously.
“Make it snappy,” Ken advised. “This isn’t the Y pool, you know.”
Jack swam a few minutes longer, then pulled himself to a low rock shelf only a few feet above the lake surface. From this position, he dived again, taking it at a long slant.
His body scraped rock, and he realized with a shock that he had barely missed diving head foremost into a projecting shelf which had not been visible from above.
Still under water, his right hand touched a hard, small object lying on the projection. Involuntarily, his fingers closed upon it. Then, in need of air, he surfaced again.
Pulling himself out onto the wide shelf below Ken and Mr. Livingston, he opened his fist to see what it was he had found.
Within his fingers was a tiny ornament, plainly a corroded, blackened earring. But even to Jack’s untrained eye the metal was pure gold, very old, and set with a large emerald.
“Hey, look what I’ve found!” he shouted, holding up the trinket.
“Pipe down!” Ken warned him. “Where do you think you are? Grand Central Station?”
War had by this time crawled out onto the ledge beside Jack. He too became excited as he examined the bit of treasure.
“Say, maybe this lake is loaded with gold and gems!” he cried. “Look at the size of that emerald! Man! No wonder Burton Monahan went off his rocker when he hunted for the secret Inca city!”
Jack tossed the ornament up to Mr. Livingston and Ken who shared the enthusiasm as they examined it.
“This is either Inca or pre-Inca work,” the Scout leader asserted. “The jewelry probably was thrown into the water centuries ago as a sacrificial offering.”
“Or maybe to keep General Pizarro from getting it when he looted Peru,” added Ken.
“If you found an earring, Jack, there must be lots of other stuff down there!” War declared, preparing to dive.
“Hold on,” Jack stopped him. “This lake is so deep, I doubt you ever could reach bottom without an air tank or a diving suit. Don’t try it.”
“Trying to keep all the treasure for yourself, eh?”
“Don’t be an egg, War,” Jack grinned. “You’re welcome to all you can bring up. I’m trying to tell you that I found this earring on a rock shelf not very far down. Don’t crack your thick skull by diving into it.”
“Thanks, pal. I’ll watch it. I’m off now to scoop up a handful of treasure!”
Studying the water momentarily, War plunged in. From above, the others could see his dark shadow moving slowly along the shelf. Presently, gasping for breath, he surfaced.
“Get anything?” Ken called eagerly.
“Nothing,” War admitted in disgust. “Not a darn thing.”
Jack decided to try his luck. Taking a deep breath, he dived diagonally along the shelf. In the dark water, he could dimly see the rocks, but nothing more. Working fast, he groped his way along until he came to a sudden drop-off.
A small fish, silvery in color with dark spots, shot past him. Intent upon regaining the surface, Jack paid it no heed.
Therefore, he was taken completely off guard when it swerved and came at him savagely. He felt a sharp pain in his left arm.
For an instant, Jack could not believe that the fish had bitten him. Then in a flash, realization came—he had been attacked by the terrible caribe fish, a cannibal more dangerous than the shark!
Those who watched anxiously from above, suddenly saw Jack’s short-cropped head appear above the rippled water. He was thrashing wildly.
“Something must have attacked him!” War exclaimed, preparing to dive to the rescue of his friend. “He’s hurt!”
Jack was grasping his left arm, trying to staunch the flow of blood. His face was agonized by intense pain.
“Keep out, War!” he called. “Caribe fish!”
Still grasping his injured arm, Jack scissored to the rock ledge. War pulled him to safety. Blood kept gushing from the wound in his forearm.
Thoroughly alarmed, Ken lowered the vine rope. War boosted from below, and Jack was hoisted to the rim.
“The wound isn’t very deep,” he muttered as Ken examined it anxiously. “That savage little fish would have taken off a finger if I hadn’t swerved! His teeth sunk into me like a razor!”
“Teeth!” Ken echoed incredulously as he bound Jack’s wound with a handkerchief. “A fish with teeth?”
“That’s right,” supplied Mr. Livingston. “Caribe fish sometimes are under-rated because of their small size. But in large numbers they are exceedingly dangerous. That’s because they’re equipped with teeth which work like shears, opening and closing by means of powerful jaw muscles.”
Ken had finished tying up Jack’s arm. “The wound isn’t deep, but it may get infected,” he said anxiously. “I wish we had some iodine and a first aid kit!”
“I’ll be okay,” Jack replied carelessly. “All in all, I’m lucky to be in one piece.”
“That’s so,” returned Mr. Livingston, his face grave. “Cannibal fish will kill a bird instantly, if one is unfortunate enough to drop into infested waters.”
“How do you figure War and I weren’t attacked when we first dived in?”
“You were wearing shorts. That probably helped. I’ve read that caribe fish are less likely to recognize flesh and blood if a man is clothed.”
“That pool must be alive with ’em,” Ken shuddered. “As far as I’m concerned, the Incas can keep their treasure!”
“Funny thing,” Jack said thoughtfully, “that one fish was the only one I saw. There may be others, but not many.”
A low whistle from the pool belatedly reminded the three that War still was on the rock ledge below. Jack and Ken lowered the vine rope, pulling him up.
“The fish can keep their old pool!” War exclaimed, shivering as he began to dress. “I’ve had enough—”
His words trailed off. From the direction of the tunnel, the three heard two sharp whistles.
“Willie’s signal!” Mr. Livingston exclaimed. “Take cover!”
Grabbing up his clothes and the vine rope, Jack followed the others into the shelter they had selected for their hide-out.
“Where’s Willie?” he worried.
Before the group could settle itself, the other Scout came bounding into view. He slid down behind the rocks, breathless from running.
“The natives are heading this way!” he announced.
“You weren’t seen going through the tunnel?” Ken demanded.
“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure.”
“What’s bringing those Indians back here now?” War asked irritably. “Why don’t they stay in their village where they belong?”
“Quiet!” Jack warned him. “If we’re caught, it won’t be funny.”
The Scouts did not have long to wait. A swarm of natives came through the tunnel, reforming at the exit in a procession.
“They’re carrying the Chief on a golden litter!” War whispered in awe. “Or is it our friend Ino?”
At first the Scouts and Mr. Livingston could not see the face of the man who sprawled comfortably beneath the feather-adorned canopy.
The great personage was borne ceremoniously by six sturdy Indians with skirts of gold cloth and headdress of waving red plumes.
“Some style!” Willie chuckled. “It’s like a circus parade!”
Behind the litter, trooped natives with javelins, war clubs and painted shields.
Presently the man on the litter shifted his position so that his face became visible to those crouched behind the rocks. The Scouts stiffened in shocked surprise.
It was Captain Carter!
“How did that conniving little crook get here and in the good graces of the natives?” Jack muttered. “Why, they’re treating him as if he were a king!”
“Do you suppose he was in the village at the time we were captured?” speculated Ken. He went on, to answer his own question. “Maybe, but I doubt it.”
“It’s clear he has top rating with the natives,” Jack declared. “I suspect he’s tumbled to some vital secret. Otherwise, you may be sure he wouldn’t waste time here. He must practically have his greedy hands on Inca gold!”
The Scouts became silent for the procession now had drawn close. As they watched, the litter was carried past the lake and on to a mass of quartz rock which glistened in the late afternoon sun.
Two of the natives rolled aside a huge stone, which hitherto had escaped the attention of the Explorers. Even from a distance, they could see that it gave entrance to another small tunnel.
Captain Carter alighted from the litter. A native motioned for him to enter the narrow passageway.
The seaman hesitated, seemingly suspicious that he might be walking into a trap. But after a moment of indecision, he stooped and crawled through the opening. One by one, the natives followed.
“Where can they be taking him?” War speculated. “He certainly isn’t a prisoner.”
“They’re treating him like a ruler!” Jack snorted in disgust. “What do you make of it, Hap?”
“How he managed to ingratiate himself, I wouldn’t know,” Mr. Livingston replied with a wry smile. “But I’m sure he’s been here before. Unless I have the wrong slant, the Indians have just revealed to him a most closely guarded secret—the entranceway to the ancient Inca city!”
The unexpected arrival of Captain Carter had stunned the Explorers, leaving them for a moment without a plan.
They were convinced however, that Mr. Livingston’s appraisal of the situation was correct. The old sea captain somehow had gained the confidence of the natives and had been conducted to the mysterious hidden city.
Warwick and Willis both urged that they be permitted to follow, in an attempt to learn what lay beyond the tunnel.
“Not alone,” the Scout leader advised. “If we decide to risk it, we’ll all wait here until nightfall. Even then, we may be caught.”
“The Indians aren’t mistreating Captain Carter,” Willie pointed out. “They seem to think he’s a God.”
“His case is different,” replied Mr. Livingston. “Probably through an earlier visit here, he managed to impress them. But if we were caught in the secret city, we might be dealt with most harshly.”
The Scouts knew that their leader was right. Nevertheless, the temptation to explore further was very hard to resist.
“We’ll have to wait until dusk,” Jack insisted, siding with Mr. Livingston. “Then we can decide whether to attempt the tunnel or hike for the river.”
During the fading hours of the afternoon, the Scouts kept constant watch of the tunnel exit. Neither Captain Carter nor any of the bearers, who had escorted him, reappeared. Three times they saw natives enter the narrow passageway, on each occasion replacing the stone barrier.
As dusk came on, the Scouts again held counsel, deciding that if ever the venture were to be made, it must be soon. Because no one was willing to remain behind, it was agreed that all should attempt the passage together. Jack and Ken were assigned to start ahead and to give a warning in the event of impending trouble.
Emerging from their rock shelter, the Scouts cautiously heaved aside the heavy stone barrier. Noiselessly, they trod through the passageway which narrowed until they were forced to crawl.
At last, however, Ken and Jack saw open sky above, and signaled to those behind that the way was clear.
As they emerged into the starlight, they stopped short at the sight which lay before them. Scarcely a quarter of mile ahead were the slumbering ruins of a long-dead Inca city.
Visible against the dark sky were three lofty entranceway arches, built of colossal stones.
The grandeur of the sight awed the group to silence. Ken, the first to find voice, whispered: “It’s just as the parchment described! We’ve found the sacred city!”
Mr. Livingston leaned against a rock as he gazed beyond the massive arches to the ruins of the old habitation.
“Ahead lies the temple of the ancient Incas,” he murmured. “Few white men ever have viewed the sights we are about to see.”
Imbued by a deep excitement, the Explorers pushed on. Almost on tiptoe, they passed beneath age-blackened entranceway arches. Not a native was visible.
“It’s like a city of the dead,” whispered Ken.
Entering upon what once had been an Inca street, the Scouts picked their way amid a litter of broken pillars and masonry.
On either side were remains of houses whose porticos were decorated with elaborate carvings. All had been built of great stone blocks, joined perfectly but without the use of mortar.
With cat-like tread, the Scouts moved on to the main plaza. In its center stood a tall, black stone column, on which was poised a statue of a man. To the right were ruins of a once magnificent temple approached by a flight of broken steps.
“It is the ancient city Burton Monahan sought,” Mr. Livingston said with conviction. “We may never know whether or not he ever reached here.”
“But you can bet Captain Carter has the answer,” Warwick muttered.
The Scouts had caught no further glimpse of the arrogant seaman, but they guessed that he might be sleeping or feasting inside one of the ruined buildings beyond the plaza. Farther on, they could see camp fires, and smell the aroma of roasting meat.
“We can’t stay here,” Mr. Livingston advised. “Either we must return the way we came, quickly—or find a hide-out.”
“How about one of these ruined houses?” Ken proposed, pointing out a fairly well preserved stone building some distance from the plaza. “If we hole in there, it will give us a chance to look over the situation.”
Jack nodded, for there was no alternative. As they crept into the stone dwelling, he noticed that Mr. Livingston was breathing hard.
“Fever coming up again?” he asked anxiously.
“I’ll be all right,” Mr. Livingston replied, lowering himself onto the dusty floor. “All the comforts of home here.”
Jack covered him with his jacket and gave him the last of the water from the canteen. After the Scout leader had fallen into a restless sleep, he and Ken quietly conferred.
“Our situation is desperate,” Jack said. “We can’t possibly escape down river with Hap as he is now. And if we stay here until dawn, we’re certain to be captured. Maybe we should find Carter and throw ourselves on his mercy.”
“That guy doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”
“He’s a white man, and so are we. He might give us a break if we hit him right.”
“We don’t even know where the old boy has staked himself out for the night,” Ken objected. “If we try to find him, the natives will get us first.”
“We’ll have to think of something,” Jack insisted soberly. “We can’t stay here many hours.”
“We need water.”
“I’m going after it,” Jack announced with sudden decision. He had seen a stone basin in the plaza, its four carved serpents spouting spring water from their mouths. Twice he had observed natives fill their jugs.
“It’s risky, Jack.”
“No more so than staying here. By nosing around I may find out where Captain Carter’s keeping himself.”
“Okay,” Ken agreed reluctantly, “but be careful.”
Taking the empty canteens, Jack made his way toward the water fountain. Moving stealthily in the darkness, he stared at the great ruined temple, unroofed and open to the stars. Somewhere within that building, or perhaps in the palace, Captain Carter must lie sleeping.
For what enormous stakes was the seaman risking his life? The vast Inca treasure? And where, he wondered, might it lie hidden? At the bottom of the quarry lake perhaps, or in another hiding place equally inaccessible.
Half way across the plaza, Jack saw a native with a lighted straw torch, mounting the broad steps of the temple. He ducked into a stone doorway to wait until the plaza again was empty.
Beyond the temple and the palace, all buildings lay in complete ruin. Great chasms told him the cause of the terrific upheaval. The area had been shaken by a devastating earthquake which in a single, mighty blow had toppled pillars and shattered massive walls.
After satisfying himself that the plaza again was deserted, the crew leader went swiftly to the water fountain.
He filled the first canteen and had reached for the second, when he heard a sound directly behind him.
Jack whirled around. Against the background of blackened stone, a man stood watching him. For a nerve shattering instant, he thought that it was a hostile native who had come upon him. Then he was relieved to recognize Ino.
As he grasped the canteens, uncertain whether to stand his ground or flee, the medicine man came slowly toward him. In the starlight, the horrible animal face mask had a terrifying appearance.
“You!” the medicine man muttered. “Why did you not go when you had the chance?”
“So you do speak English!” Jack retorted boldly. “Why not rip off that animal face and come clean? Who are you anyhow?”
Ino ignored the question. He seized Jack’s arm, giving him an angry little shake.
“Fool!” he cried, keeping his voice low so that it would not echo in the empty street. “If you are found here in the sacred city, it may mean your death! Where are your friends?”
Jack indicated the stone house where the others waited.
“Why did you risk coming here?” Ino demanded. “You were free to go.”
“Our leader is too sick to travel. Besides—”
“Besides, you were impelled by the lust for gold!” Ino accused. “You are friends of Captain Carter!”
“No! Absolutely not. And we didn’t come here looking for gold either. We came—”
Ino did not permit him to finish. “You cannot stay here,” he insisted. “You do not realize your danger. You must leave now—at once—while there still is time.”
“I tell you we can’t go with Mr. Livingston so weak and sick,” Jack returned in exasperation. “Why don’t you take off that silly animal mask and reveal yourself. Are you a trader?”
“You ask too many questions,” Ino answered. “Take me to your friends and we’ll see what can be done. You must be away from here before dawn.”
“Anxious to get rid of us, aren’t you?”
“I’ve told you,” Ino retorted irritably. “You don’t realize your own danger! Once these natives are stirred up, there’s no telling what they’ll do.”
“Captain Carter seems safe enough.”
“Captain Carter is the one who has excited the Indians!” Ino asserted. “He has half convinced them that he is a God greater than their own ruler, Panomuna. Tomorrow at dawn there is to be a test of their powers—a challenge to the Sun God. One or the other will be victorious and gain control. The winner, I fear, will not be Panomuna.”
“And if Captain Carter is the winner?”
“He’ll make short work of me. Captain Carter has no scruples. He’d have done me in a long while ago had he dared.” The voice behind the animal mask crackled with ironical laughter. “The natives, you see, believe that I am a skilled medicine man. My knowledge of first aid and a few herbs has stood me in good stead.”
“Why have you remained here?” Jack demanded. “Tell me your name.”
“It would mean nothing to you.”
“It might,” Jack retorted, annoyed by the man’s unwillingness to disclose his identity. “Are you, by any chance, Burton Monahan?”
His question evoked only silence.
Jack decided upon a bold move. Before the other suspected his intention, he lunged forward to snatch the mask from his face.