Title: The Lost City
Author: Badger, Jos. E. (Joseph Edward)
Language: English
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THE LOST CITY

By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.



CONTENTS.

     CHAPTER
     I.      NATURE IN TRAVAIL
     II.     PROFESSOR FEATHERWIT TAKING NOTES
     III.    RIDING THE TORNADO
     IV.     THE PROFESSOR’S LITTLE EXPERIMENT
     V.      THE PROFESSOR’S UNKNOWN LAND
     VI.     A BRACE OF UNWELCOME VISITORS
     VII.    THE PROFESSOR’S GREAT ANTICIPATIONS
     VIII.   A DUEL TO THE DEATH
     IX.     GRAPPLING A QUEER FISH
     X.      RESCUED AND RESCUERS
     XI.     ANOTHER SURPRISE FOR THE PROFESSOR
     XII.    THE STORY OF A BROKEN LIFE
     XIII.   THE LOST CITY OF THE AZTECS
     XIV.    A MARVELLOUS VISION
     XV.     ASTOUNDING, YET TRUE
     XVI.    CAN IT BE TRUE?
     XVII.   AN ENIGMA FOR THE BROTHERS
     XVIII.  SOMETHING LIKE A WHITE ELEPHANT
     XIX.    THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN GOD
     XX.     THE PROFESSOR AND THE AZTEC
     XXI.    DISCUSSING WAYS AND MEANS
     XXII.   A DARING UNDERTAKING
     XXIII.  A FLIGHT UNDERGROUND
     XXIV.   THE SUN CHILDREN’S PERIL
     XXV.    WALDO GOES FISHING
     XXVI.   DOWN AMONG THE DEAD
     XXVII.  PENETRATING GRIM SECRETS
     XXVIII. BROUGHT BEFORE THE GODS
     XXIX.   BENEATH THE SACRIFICIAL STONE
     XXX.    AGAINST OVERWHELMING ODDS
     XXXI.   DEFENDING THE SUN CHILDREN
     XXXII.  ADIEU TO THE LOST CITY



THE LOST CITY.



CHAPTER I. NATURE IN TRAVAIL.

“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.



CHAPTER II. PROFESSOR FEATHERWIT TAKING NOTES.

“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 debris 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 debris 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!”



CHAPTER III. RIDING THE TORNADO.

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 debris. 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 Aesop’s--bullfrog!”



CHAPTER IV. THE PROFESSOR’S LITTLE EXPERIMENT.

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 debris, 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
debris 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.



CHAPTER V. THE PROFESSOR’S UNKNOWN LAND.

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 debris,
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.



CHAPTER VI. A BRACE OF UNWELCOME VISITORS.

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!”



CHAPTER VII. THE PROFESSOR’S GREAT ANTICIPATIONS.

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?”



CHAPTER VIII. A DUEL TO THE DEATH.

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!”



CHAPTER IX. GRAPPLING A QUEER FISH.

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 DO see 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.



CHAPTER X. RESCUED AND RESCUERS.

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?”



CHAPTER XI. ANOTHER SURPRISE FOR THE PROFESSOR.

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.

“Bear 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.



CHAPTER XII. THE STORY OF A BROKEN LIFE.

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!”



CHAPTER XIII. THE LOST CITY OF THE AZTECS.

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!”



CHAPTER XIV. A MARVELLOUS VISION.

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.



CHAPTER XV. ASTOUNDING, YET TRUE.

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!”



CHAPTER XVI. CAN IT BE TRUE?

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.



CHAPTER XVII. AN ENIGMA FOR THE BROTHERS.

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?



CHAPTER XVIII. SOMETHING LIKE A WHITE ELEPHANT.

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.



CHAPTER XIX. THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN GOD.

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.



CHAPTER XX. THE PROFESSOR AND THE AZTEC.

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!”



CHAPTER XXI. DISCUSSING WAYS AND MEANS.

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.



CHAPTER XXII. A DARING UNDERTAKING.

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.



CHAPTER XXIII. A FLIGHT UNDERGROUND.

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!”



CHAPTER XXIV. THE SUN CHILDREN’S PERIL.

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.



CHAPTER XXV. WALDO GOES FISHING.

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.



CHAPTER XXVI. DOWN AMONG THE DEAD.

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.



CHAPTER XXVII. PENETRATING GRIM SECRETS.

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 gleefully 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!”



CHAPTER XXVIII. BROUGHT BEFORE THE GODS.

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 he 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!”



CHAPTER XXIX. BENEATH THE SACRIFICIAL STONE.

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.



CHAPTER XXX. AGAINST OVERWHELMING ODDS.

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
bodyguard 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.



CHAPTER XXXI. DEFENDING THE SUN CHILDREN.

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.



CHAPTER XXXII. ADIEU TO THE LOST CITY.

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 deal 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!





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