Normally, the ceremony would have ended there, but Jack went on. With deep feeling, he added the words of the Scout oath:
“‘On my honor, I will do my bestTo do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law;To help other people at all times;To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.’”
“‘On my honor, I will do my best
To do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law;
To help other people at all times;
To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.’”
The other Explorers joined in, speaking each word with sincerity. All eyes were glued upon Jack, Ken, Willie and Warwick.
At that impressive moment, knowing that on the morrow they would be speeding far from America, the four felt their responsibility keenly.
Hadn’t they been singled out for an important mission? They must try hard to make Mr. Livingston and the other Scouts proud of them! Come what would, they dared not fail or falter.
“Six days overdue, and no sign of theShark! What a help Captain Carter proved to be!”
Jack delivered the remark as he lay on the steep hillside overlooking Cuertos harbor in Peru. His sentiment was shared by the other Explorers, Willie, Ken and War. Six days of waiting in a desolate coastal town had left the four Rovers decidedly restless and impatient.
Behind them now were a thrilling plane journey from the States, exciting days in Lima. But nearly a week had elapsed since they had registered at the little Cuertos Hotel in this sleepy town seldom visited by tourists.
To the annoyance of Mr. Livingston and the Scouts, theSharkhad not yet made port. What, they wondered, had delayed Captain Carter and their supplies?
On this sunny morning, while Mr. Livingston conferred with government officials, Jack and his friends had decided to watch the harbor for a possible glimpse of the long overdue vessel.
“Maybe Carter never will show up,” War remarked, tossing a stone into the waves which broke gently on the shore below. “I don’t trust him.”
“TheSharkmay have run into bad storms,” Jack replied. “It’s hard waiting, though—especially when we can’t pick up any information about Burton Monahan.”
“Apparently the only one who knows anything about him is that old missionary who lives on the hill,” Ken said thoughtfully. “And he won’t see us.”
A week ago, the day of their arrival, the Scouts and Mr. Livingston had called at the crumbling old mission overlooking the sea. Politely but firmly, a servant had informed them that Father Francisco Manoel was ill and would receive no visitors. For five straight days, the answer always had been the same.
“It’s an excuse not to see us!” Willie asserted, getting up from the rocks. “Father Francisco just does not want to tell what he knows about Burton Monahan or that old parchment!”
“Oh, we can’t be sure,” Jack drawled. “Father Francisco may be sick. We didn’t expect this job to be an easy one. Or did we think Burton Monahan would be sitting conveniently on a rock pile waiting for us?”
“I’m getting tired of perching on this one!” War announced. “Let’s move!”
“Where?”
“We might amble into the village again.”
“Okay,” Jack agreed. “We’re not to meet Hap for a couple of hours. Plenty of time.”
Slowly, the Rovers climbed a crooked path which twisted up the steep hillside. Midway to the summit they met an old woman with a brilliantly colored parrot perched on her shoulder.
“Buenos dias,” croaked the bird.
“Good day, yourself!” Jack responded.
He halted, intending to inspect the saucy parrot. But the bent old native woman glared angrily at him and shuffled hurriedly on.
“Guess she didn’t like the way I spoke to her pet,” Jack said with a shrug. “Or was she suspicious of our Explorers’ uniforms?”
At the top of the hill, the four Scouts paused to breathe deeply of the salt air. Willie snapped several pictures of the old mission, and then he and War wandered on.
Left behind, Jack and Ken watched the sea for a while before starting in the direction their companions had taken. In passing the old mission door, Jack impulsively paused to knock.
“No use,” Ken discouraged him. “There’s never any answer.”
But even as he spoke, they heard footsteps. Surprisingly, the massive door swung open and a servant peered out at them.
“Father Francisco see you now,” she informed them in broken English. “Enter!”
“Well, what d’ you know!” Ken murmured startled. “We must have pressed the magic button!”
The servant motioned for the two Scouts to follow her down a tiled corridor. Eventually, they came to a pleasant half-underground library whose long, wide window provided a view of the ocean. On three sides, the walls were lined with books.
Father Francisco sat facing the sea, but he turned slowly as the Scouts entered. He was a small, bent old man in a black dressing robe and sandals. Pillows braced his back.
Motioning Ken and Jack into well-worn leather chairs, he said in precise but perfect English: “I regret I have been ill and could not see you when first you called. My arthritis has been most painful. Mr. Livingston did not accompany you?”
Jack replied that their leader was in conference with government officials. He and Ken both were uncomfortably aware of the old missionary’s intent scrutiny. They had an odd feeling that he not only knew everything about them and their party, but could read their innermost thoughts.
“How do you like Peru?” Father Francisco inquired politely.
“We haven’t seen very much of it,” Jack confessed. “Cuertos though, isn’t exactly as we pictured it.”
“The coastal area is very dry,” the missionary said, fingering a long, gold neck chain. “Here at Cuertos we have a good rain at least once a century. Earthquakes, I regret to say, are more frequent.”
An awkward silence fell. Father Francisco broke it by inquiring: “You are Scouts from America?”
“Explorers,” Ken said proudly. “I guess you already know why we are here.”
Father Francisco eyed the pair quizzically. “You are searching for Burton Monahan? Or is it the treasure which intrigues you?”
“We’re trying to find Mr. Monahan,” Jack replied earnestly.
“One must be very brave or very foolhardy to venture far into the wilds. A mule-back trip across Peru consumes weeks.”
Ken and Jack nodded, remaining silent.
“Many of our mountain roads are mere tracks,” Father Francisco continued. “Only caves or stone huts offer shelter. To venture far one must have a trustedarrieroor muleteer to act as guide. A dependable man is not easy to find.”
To Jack and Ken it was clear that the missionary deliberately was trying to discourage them. They listened attentively as he mentioned the many dangers that might beset a traveler. When he had finished, Jack said quietly:
“We realize, Father, that our mission won’t be easy. All the same, a few hardships won’t bother us. You knew Burton Monahan?”
“Very well. Ah, he was a reckless one! But with the courage of a lion! From the first, the old tale of treasure fascinated him. Yet in fairness, I must say it was not lust for Inca gold that spurred him on, as it does so many adventurers who come to this country. No, it was the lure of the unknown that drew him irresistibly to his fate.”
“His fate?” Ken repeated, startled. “Then you believe that Burton Monahan is dead?”
Father Francisco shrugged his thin shoulder. “Quien sabe?” he murmured in Spanish. “Who knows? There is one who might provide the answer, if he would. I fear however, that the truth will never pass his lips. Not if it profits him to remain silent.”
“Who is this man?” questioned Jack.
The missionary did not answer. The Explorers were certain he heard and that deliberately he withheld his reply.
“I would assist you if I could,” Father Francisco resumed after a moment. “Unfortunately, I can do nothing.”
“Tell us everything you know about Mr. Monahan’s disappearance,” Jack urged.
“For many weeks he studied the ancient parchment which I have here—taking notes, trying to figure out the route of the Portuguese explorers who so faithfully recounted their discovery of the hidden pre-Inca city. Finally, disregarding all advice, he organized a party and set off into the most desolate section of the mountains. That was many months ago.”
“And that was the last you ever heard of him?” Ken inquired.
“Word filtered back. As the journey became more difficult, his natives began to desert. Finally, even Captain Carter abandoned him.”
“Captain Carter!” exclaimed Jack, startled. “The skipper of theShark?”
“The same.”
“Why, we didn’t know he had a close association with Mr. Monahan,” Ken declared. “Captain Carter is bringing our equipment here on theShark. In fact, he promoted the expedition.”
Father Francisco eyed the two Scouts with a fixed rigid smile. “So Captain Carter is to be a member of your party?” he asked softly.
“Mr. Monahan—Burton’s brother—thought he could be helpful to us,” Ken explained.
“Ah, yes, Captain Carter could be of assistance, if he chose,” murmured the old missionary. “I regret to say he is not known in Cuertos for his cooperative qualities. Captain Carter—”
Abruptly, the missionary broke off, as if he had been on the verge of making an unintended disclosure.
“You must excuse me now,” he said apologetically. “It is the hour of my siesta. As for the temple treasure and Burton Monahan, I advise you for your own safety, to banish all thought of an expedition.”
Disappointed by the dismissal, Ken turned to leave. Jack, however, was unwilling to be discharged so easily.
He sensed that mention of Captain Carter’s name somehow had been unfortunate. Seemingly, Father Francisco had become distrustful of their association with the skipper of theShark.
“Captain Carter was assigned to our expedition by Burton Monahan’s brother,” he informed the missionary. “We have no liking for him. Right now we’re annoyed because theSharkhasn’t made port with our cargo.”
“We’ve counted on your help,” Ken added earnestly. “If we don’t get it, the expedition will bog down right here at Cuertos.”
“I believe that you are sincere,” the old missionary said after a long silence. “This much I will tell you. Captain Carter has an ugly reputation among our people.”
“Because of the Monahan affair?” interposed Jack.
“There were whispers that after Monahan left here, he fell in with Carter,” the missionary explained reluctantly. “Some believe that together they came upon the hidden city and that for lust of gold, Carter removed Monahan from the picture.”
“But the captain has claimed to be working to save Monahan!” Jack exclaimed.
“I cannot vouch for the truth of the tale. I do know that Captain Carter has unsavory connections, both here and inland. As master of theSharkhe has many profitable lines only indirectly connected with the transportation of cargo.”
“But why would Carter ask financial assistance from Burton Monahan’s brother?” Jack asked in perplexity. “If he did away with Burton, why pretend to be seeking him?”
“Who can fathom the depths of a twisted mind?” murmured Father Francisco. “I cannot vouch for the truth of the rumors. Possibly, Captain Carter has been misunderstood and misjudged.”
Seeking to gain information, Jack and Ken asked other questions. The missionary politely evaded them. Abruptly changing the subject, he offered to show the Scouts the ancient Portuguese manuscript which long had been in his possession.
Painfully pulling himself from the pillows, he hobbled to a walnut cabinet.
“I spent many years translating the manuscript which is written in Portuguese,” he informed the Explorers as he unlocked the heavy double doors. “You are familiar with the history of Peru?”
“We’ve read a lot lately,” Jack returned. “Especially about how the Spanish general Pizarro conquered the country in 1532.”
“Peru then was under Inca domination,” the missionary said, warming to his subject. “The Inca ruler, you know, was regarded as a representative of the Sun God, head of the priesthood and the army.
“When Pizarro took the country, he forced the Indians to turn over vast amounts of treasure to ransom their king, who had been made a captive. But the Incas were betrayed, for their ruler was put to death. Angered, they dumped much of their gold into lakes and streams or hid it in caves. One such treasure lake, so this ancient manuscript discloses, lies hidden ‘inside a mountain.’ The phrase has been variously interpreted. According to ancient belief, the treasure mountain is visible from here.”
“From this mission?” Jack asked incredulously.
“Yes, but as I presently will show you, the clue has little value.”
Almost reverently, Father Francisco spread the parchment on a table before the Scouts. Eagerly, they peered at the fine-grained skin which had been scraped and rubbed with pumice to permit writing on either side.
“Imagine being able to read that!” Ken said in awe.
“The manuscript begins thus,” the missionary translated. “‘We wandered ten years in the wilds, seeking gold. Little did we find until in the year—’”
Abruptly, Father Francisco broke off, his attention diverted toward the door of the library. The Scouts had heard no unusual sound, but the missionary seemed disturbed.
“Someone, I believe, loiters in the passageway!” he whispered. “Be quick! See who it is that listens by the door!”
Following Father Francisco’s direction, Jack darted swiftly to the library door.
As he jerked it open, an old woman with a parrot on her shoulder, stumbled forward into the room. Obviously, she had been listening at the keyhole. Jack recognized her at once as the same unfriendly native he and Ken had met earlier on the path.
In a torrent of Spanish, the woman apologized to Father Francisco. He scolded her soundly for her behavior and bade her be gone.
Still chattering, the woman backed out of the room and vanished into the corridor.
“Do you suppose she followed us here?” Ken speculated. “Our presence in the village seems to be stirring plenty of excitement.”
“Lolita has ears like a sponge,” said Father Francisco. “She is a friend of Captain Carter’s. One of his few supporters in the village.”
Forgetting the parrot woman, the Scouts once more examined the ancient Portuguese manuscript. At their request, Father Francisco read aloud a passage in which the Portuguese adventurers described their first glimpse of the treasure area.
“‘Our native Indians said it was a country whose Gods did not wish it to be known,’” he recited, “‘and that they would visit wrath and terror upon all intruders.’”
Skipping through the manuscript, the missionary read several beautiful passages, including one in which the writer told of making camp near the treasure mountain.
“‘Darkness made terrifying the unearthly landscape of chasm, precipice and gorge,’” Father Francisco quoted. “‘At dawn, the sun lit up frightful precipices which none could scale, and in the bush-strewn and craggy path we took at the foot of these weird mountains, we had to step warily because of lurking rattlesnakes. Had we been bitten, of antidote there was none.’”
Glancing up from his reading, the missionary smiled at the two Scouts.
“There is more, much more. This, however, gives you a faint idea of what you might expect to encounter should you decide to try to follow the route taken by Burton Monahan.”
“Does the manuscript give directions for reaching the hidden city?” Ken asked, undaunted.
“In a vague way. My thought is that the Portuguese deliberately gave incorrect information so that others could not find the treasure.”
“Why didn’t they go back themselves?” questioned Jack.
“According to legend, the few men who survived the expedition, did attempt to return many years later, but could not retrace their way. Many men since have tried and failed.”
“I’d like to read every word of the manuscript!” Ken declared.
“If you linger awhile in Cuertos, I gladly will translate it for you,” offered the missionary. “The tale is most absorbing. The Portuguese adventurer relates that the secret entrance to the city was discovered by an Indian. While gathering wood for the camp, he suddenly saw a cleft by means of which the rocks could be scaled.”
“Do you believe that the ancient Inca city exists?” Jack asked.
Father Francisco hesitated and then answered: “There is considerable evidence that this manuscript was based on fact. The city herein described might be such a one as Cuzco, the ancient capital of the Incas. The Portuguese’s account of ruins tallies in all respects with those which have come to light in recent years.”
“Strange that the city never has been spotted from the air,” remarked Ken thoughtfully.
“Planes seldom fly in that area. In any case, the ruins would be well-hidden by centuries of vegetation.”
“You doubt though, that Burton Monahan reached his objective?” Ken persisted.
“If he did, he either lost his life or is being held captive by hostile Indians.” Father Francisco frowned and added as a question: “You noticed the mantilla Lolita wore? The fastening—a gold pin in the form of a fish?”
Ken and Jack admitted that they had failed to note the ornament.
“That pin disturbs me,” the missionary said. “The workmanship is unusually fine. I should judge that the ornament is of Inca or pre-Inca origin.”
“How did the woman get it?” Jack speculated.
“Ah, if I knew the answer to your question, I might know also what became of Burton Monahan. Lolita has worn the pin for many months now, ever since Captain Carter returned here from the unsuccessful expedition.”
“Then you think he gave it to her!” Jack exclaimed. “Perhaps for some service?”
“I would not know,” Father Francisco returned. “It has occurred to me that Captain Carter may have reached the hidden city, or contacted natives who have had access to its treasures. This he has denied. As for Lolita, she has told me repeatedly that she bought the pin at a native market.”
“If Captain Carter reached the ancient Inca city, he must know what became of Burton Monahan,” Jack asserted, lost in thought. “Wait until we see him again!”
“You will not have long to wait, I think,” the missionary predicted with a smile.
At Jack’s look of astonishment, he inclined his head toward the expanse of window overlooking his area. In the distance, a small freighter could be seen plying its way toward the harbor.
“TheShark, I believe,” Father Francisco identified the vessel. “Captain Carter should drop anchor within the hour. But I advise that you refrain from questioning him about Lolita’s pin.”
Jack and Ken were troubled by the information the old missionary had given them. Distrust of Captain Carter which had been kept in close check, now flared anew. Yet they realized that without specific facts and proof, they dared not accuse the seaman. To hint even, that they thought he had withheld vital information about Burton Monahan, would be to invite a quarrel which might wreck the expedition before it was well underway.
“If theSharkis coming in, we ought to find Willie and War,” Ken suggested, eager to get back to the waterfront. “Maybe they’ve already sighted her.”
“May we come here later to go over the parchment with you in detail?” Jack asked the missionary. “Mr. Livingston will want to see it too.”
“I will give you what help I can,” Father Francisco promised.
“You mentioned that the treasure lake supposedly lies within a mountain,” Ken reminded him as he and Jack were ready to leave. “Does that mean it is hidden behind a mountain chain?”
“The phrase has been variously interpreted. Burton Monahan believed, as do I, that the lake and the secret city are hemmed in by high mountains.”
“Yet this treasure mountain is visible from the mission?” Jack probed.
“So the manuscript reports. Come, I will show you.”
Leaving the parchment on the table, the old missionary moved with tottering steps to an arched doorway which opened upon the street. With a bony hand, he indicated the rim of mountains visible in the far distance.
“Yonder you see the highest, most inaccessible ranges of the Andes,” he said. “Even intrepid travelers have found many of the chasms and valleys impassable.”
“Which is the secret mountain?” Ken asked eagerly.
Father Francisco pointed out one of the ranges, which in the sunlight seemed afire with spears of red and gold.
“Have explorers never reached those peaks?” Jack questioned. “In all these years, it seems impossible that no one would have gone there.”
“Many have attained the heights, my son. But little gold has been found. As for the lost city, it remains as elusive as in the sixteenth century when the Portuguese first set eyes upon it.”
“Mr. Monahan took a direct route to yonder mountain?” Ken asked, his eyes on the rim of blue.
“No, it was his belief that the directions given in the parchment were incorrect. Either the Portuguese were mistaken in their bearings, or deliberately misleading.”
“You know the route he took?”
“To a certain point, yes. Beyond that, there is no definite information. We have only Captain Carter’s word—”
A startled expression came upon the missionary’s kindly face. The two Scouts followed his gaze upward to the expanse of adobe wall where an ugly, jagged crack had appeared.
Even as they stared in astonishment, the crack widened. Plaster began to fall. They felt the floor tremble beneath them.
“An earth tremor!” Father Francisco announced calmly, grasping the doorway for support. “Quickly! Seek the safety of the street!”
A second, harder tremor jarred the room, nearly knocking Jack and Ken off their feet.
“This mission is soundly built,” the old missionary said in a quiet voice. “These ancient walls have sustained a dozen severe quakes. But you will feel safer outside.”
The two Scouts were reluctant to leave Father Francisco, who scarcely seemed able to maintain his balance.
“Come with us,” Jack urged, taking his arm.
“No, I must toll the bell. When my people hear the bell, they know that the quake is not a hard one. It reassures them and prevents panic. I must ring it now.”
Painfully, the missionary moved toward the long corridor. Another shock came, knocking a small statue from a niche in the wall. Plaster dust filled the air.
“Where is the bell?” Jack demanded. “We’ll ring it for you.”
“Across the patio,” Father Francisco directed. “The bell tower is to the right, beyond the kitchens.”
The very walls seemed to weave as Jack and Ken raced for the tower. Outside the mission, all was confusion. The Scouts could hear the frightened screams of terrified natives who sought the streets.
Reaching the bell tower, they seized the long rope. A dozen times they tolled the bell.
Another heavy tremor shook the mission. For a moment, Jack and Ken feared that the bell tower would come toppling down upon their heads. But the danger passed and even to their ears, the steady, clear clang of the bell was reassuring.
Minutes passed and there were no further quakes. Jack dropped the bell rope.
“The worst is over now, I think,” he said. “Let’s see what has happened to the village.”
Outside, natives were milling in the streets and running toward the mission. In two places the cobblestones had heaved up, leaving a wide, deep crevass. Faces mirrored fear and anxiety, but there was no panic.
Heavy dust hung over the street. Some distance away, a house was on fire. Already the villagers were fighting the flames with buckets of water. Jack and Ken helped, and then, when the blaze was out, looked about for Warwick and Willie.
“I guess they must have gone back to the waterfront,” Ken said. “Or maybe to our hotel. We ought to find ’em.”
“Think we should make certain Father Francisco is all right before we go?”
“A good idea,” Ken nodded. “Quakes are old stuff to him, I guess. But at his age a little excitement might bring on a heart attack. Let’s go back to say goodbye.”
The outside mission door stood wide open. Meeting no one, the two Scouts went down the deserted corridor to pause hesitantly at the entrance to the library.
Evidently, the elderly missionary had not expected them to return. His back was toward them. He was searching rapidly through the miscellaneous papers which cluttered the table.
“It’s over, I guess,” Jack remarked in a purposely loud voice. “No great damage done.”
Startled, Father Francisco turned around quickly. “Oh, yes, yes,” he said, almost vaguely.
“Is anything wrong, Father?” Ken inquired, aware that the missionary seemed gravely disturbed.
“The old Portuguese manuscript,” Father Francisco muttered. “Did either of you pick it up when you went to ring the bell?”
“Why, no,” answered Ken.
“It was lying on the table when we left,” Jack added.
“So I thought,” declared Father Francisco in a troubled voice. “I went to the street for a few minutes to quiet my people. When I returned a moment ago, I could not find the parchment.”
“Might your housekeeper have taken it?” suggested Ken.
“Impossible. My servants are trained never to touch any of my papers.”
“Has anyone else been in the library?” Jack questioned. “For instance, that parrot woman we caught listening at the door?”
“Lolita would have no use for the manuscript. She has no schooling and can neither read nor write.”
The Scouts became aware that Father Francisco was regarding them with a peculiar, thoughtful expression. Belatedly, it dawned upon them that they might be under suspicion.
“I hope you don’t think we took that parchment!” Jack blurted out. “We’re Scouts. It’s part of our creed to be honest and trustworthy.”
“I believe you,” the missionary said. “Give the matter no further thought. True, I value the parchment highly, but sooner or later, the culprit will reveal himself.”
“There’s something mighty queer about that manuscript taking wings,” Ken remarked. “First, we lose the translation. Now the original is gone—just when we need it too.”
“We can’t blame this on Captain Carter,” Jack pointed out. “His boat is probably making harbor about now.”
“That parchment might have helped us find Burton Monahan.”
Father Francisco told the Scouts that although he had no copy of the Portuguese manuscript, he had pored over it so often he could recall countless passages from memory. He promised that he would write as much as he could remember in English and have it for the boys if they came again.
“We’ll return,” Jack assured him. “Having a copy of that manuscript means a lot to us.”
Taking leave of the missionary, Ken and Jack went directly to the beach. Father Francisco had made no mistake in identifying theShark. The familiar schooner was anchored some distance from shore. Even now, a small boat was plying its way across the harbor.
“There’s Captain Carter!” Jack cried, recognizing the man in the bow. “Let’s head him off.”
At the dogtrot, the Scouts started down shore. But they were too far away to hail the Captain. His boat touched the beach some distance away, and without seeing them he started off alone in the opposite direction.
Determined to overtake him, Ken and Jack followed. Captain Carter was still some yards away when abruptly he halted to talk to a woman at an open-air vegetable stall.
“The parrot woman!” Ken exclaimed, stopping short. “Father Francisco was right! They’re old friends.”
The two Explorers were too far away to hear the conversation, even if they could have understood the rapid flow of Spanish. But they noted that the two spoke most earnestly together.
And then Lolita, with a movement so swift that Ken and Jack nearly missed it, whipped something from her dress front. She handed the bulky object to Captain Carter, who thrust it under his coat.
“What was that?” Jack demanded alertly.
“It looked like the missing parchment to me!”
“I thought so too! But why would she have snatched it for Captain Carter? He couldn’t have told her to do it, because he only now made port.”
“You got me,” Ken responded. “But she certainly slipped him something. Shall we buzz ’em?”
“Let’s wait,” Jack decided after a moment of thought. “No use tipping our hand.”
Unnoticed, they watched the two talk together for a few minutes longer. Captain Carter took money from his billfold, giving it to the parrot woman. She then slipped away behind the vegetable stall.
Ken and Jack made no attempt to intercept the Captain until he had started on. As they came up behind him, he whirled suddenly and reached toward his hip as if for a weapon.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said relaxing. “Well! Well! I just came ashore to tell Livingston his cargo is here safe and sound.”
“Six days late,” Jack remarked.
“We were delayed by a gale. Where’s Livingston?”
Jack explained that the Scout leader was in conference with government officials.
“Still set on going inland?”
“That’s the plan,” Ken told him.
“It’s a mistake,” Captain Carter said gruffly. “If anyone goes off on a wild chase looking for Monahan, I’m the man to do it, because I know this country. Now if Livingston could see it that way, you could park yourselves comfortably—like at Lima. I’d take the expedition in and either find Monahan or learn what became of him.”
“You know then where he disappeared?” Jack asked, watching the seaman closely.
Captain Carter shot a quick, suspicious glance at him. “No such thing,” he denied. “I know where he made his last camp before he started into hostile Indian territory. I tried to get him to turn back, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Ken and Jack remained silent. Nevertheless, they were convinced that the master of theSharkwas lying. More than ever they were of the opinion that he knew more about Burton Monahan’s disappearance than he had revealed. Why, they wondered, was he eager to head an expedition and yet unwilling to have them go along?
“I was hired to haul your cargo here, and the job’s done,” the Captain continued. “If you’re asking for advice, though, I’m telling you to forget the expedition.”
“That’s what Father Francisco said, too,” Ken replied.
“Father Francisco?” Carter’s face twisted with dislike. “What did that old fossil tell you about me?”
“Not very much,” Jack answered. “It may interest you to know that while we were at the mission, Father Francisco lost the Portuguese parchment which described the secret mountain and the lost Inca city. It was stolen from the library during the earthquake.”
“So?”
“We saw Lolita at the mission,” Ken took over. “In fact, she listened at the door. Weren’t you talking to her just now?”
“What if I was? You want to make something of it?”
“We were wondering—”
“Well, don’t!” Captain Carter cut in belligerently. “Keep out of my affairs, or I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t find in the Boy Scout manual! Lolita’s an old friend of mine. I got a lot of friends in this port.”
With that, the master of theSharkswaggered away, to disappear in a water-front tavern.
“How we got ourselves hooked with a guy like Captain Carter I’ll never know,” Jack commented in disgust. “But if he figures we’re going to back out on the expedition, or let him take over, he can guess again.”
“I wonder when he’ll get our gear ashore?” Ken speculated.
“Probably when he’s good and ready to ask clearance from the port inspectors. He won’t hurry. You can be sure of that.”
The Scouts turned once more toward the sea. Before they had walked far, they spied Warwick and Willie and hailed them.
“Hi!” War greeted the pair. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you two. Hap sent a message.”
“Where is he?” Jack asked quickly. “Still with those government men?”
Willie nodded. “He figures on being tied up half the day. Our little party may stall right here at Cuertos.”
“How come?”
“Well, the authorities aren’t keen on having us start for the high sierras. Captain Carter’s name seems to be poison here. We’re under a cloud because of our association with him.”
“He’s here, by the way,” Ken informed the pair. “As unco-operative as ever, too.”
“When did the boat get in?” Willie demanded eagerly.
“Only a few minutes ago,” Ken answered. “Captain Carter’s visiting his ‘friends’ around town. After he’s talked out, maybe he’ll get around to moving our stuff ashore.”
The sun by this time was high overhead. Bored by inactivity, the Scouts returned to their hotel for lunch.
Throughout the afternoon, they waited for Mr. Livingston. Twice he sent word that he had been delayed longer than expected.
“The expedition’s run into a snag,” Willie remarked in discouragement. “We may never get out of this hole!”
By dinner time, the Explorers were thoroughly disturbed by Mr. Livingston’s long absence. A note assured them that he would be at the hotel without fail by nine o’clock.
“I’ve run into unexpected difficulties,” he wrote. “Hope to have everything ironed out so we can leave Cuertos within forty-eight hours.”
After eating, the Scouts strolled to the market, and then to the water front. In the fast gathering shadows, they could dimly make out theSharkriding at anchor.
“Let’s go aboard,” Willie suddenly proposed.
“How’ll we get there?” Ken asked. “Swim? No, thanks! I’m not offering myself as shark bait.”
Willie, however, had sighted a fisherman whose motorboat was tied up nearby. “Let’s make a deal with him to take us out there,” he suggested.
“Captain Carter may not like it,” Jack reminded him. “He wouldn’t let us go aboard once before.”
“We can try,” Willie insisted. “Come on! Anything’s better than just standing around.”
The others followed willingly enough. By means of Jack’s Spanish and a dollar from Ken, they were able to persuade the fisherman to take them out to theShark.
As the craft came alongside, Jack loudly hailed the vessel. At first there was no answer. Finally, a lone sailor thrust his head over the railing to peer suspiciously down at the visitors.
In Spanish he demanded to know what they wanted.
Jack asked for Captain Carter, only to be told that he was not aboard.
“I can’t make out all he’s saying,” the Scout crew leader reported to his chums. “I gather though, that he’s alone. The others must have been given shore leave.”
“Let’s go aboard,” War urged.
Before the others could deter him, he seized a rope, and went up hand over hand. Oblivious to a torrent of Spanish which poured from the lips of the Shark’s watch, he then lowered a ladder for his friends.
Ken and Willie quickly climbed aboard. Jack hesitated. Before reluctantly following, he instructed the boatman to wait.
“I feel like a pirate coming here while Captain Carter is gone,” he admitted, leaping lightly down on the gently rolling deck. “He has it in for us now. If he finds us here, he’ll have just cause for complaint.”
“We have a right to find out about our cargo,” Willie insisted. “Haven’t we waited all day? I need some of my stuff.”
“We can’t take anything,” Jack pointed out. “Every box will have to pass customs.”
“Inspection doesn’t amount to much in this port,” Willie scoffed. “Let’s see if we can locate our boxes.”
“Even if we do, we’re not taking any of them from theShark,” Jack said firmly.
“Okay,” Willie agreed. “It won’t do any harm to look around though.”
Descending to the hole, the Scouts quickly found a compartment where a pile of boxes had been stored. All were marked in the name of the Scout organization.