RGL e-Book Cover 2018©
RGL e-Book Cover 2018©
The Open Road for Boys, October 1931, with
first part of "The Incas' Treasure House"
THEY were lost! For some time both boys had felt sure of it, and could no longer conceal their helplessness, or their realization of the dangers they faced. They gazed at each other wide-eyed, without speaking, for each dreaded to voice his fears.
It seemed days since they had crawled from under the overturned car, unhurt, to find the Cholo chauffeur crumpled lifeless under the steering wheel; yet Pancho's watch told them it had been only eight hours since they had been laughing and chatting in the car as it bumped across the desert toward La Raya mining camp where the boys had planned to pass their vacation with Bob Stillwell's father, the manager.
For months they had looked forward to the trip, ever since Bob had received a letter from his father telling of the wonders of Peru and suggesting that he bring a friend with him. Of course Bob had chosen Pancho McLean, his most intimate chum, who, having lived for several years in Mexico, spoke Spanish fluently. Bob's father had sent word that he could not meet the boys as he had planned, but one of the officials of the La Raya Company had greeted them aboard ship at Callao, and had seen them safely started on their way to the mines in one of the company's cars. The accident happened suddenly, unexpectedly. One instant they were speeding across seemingly trackless desert, the next instant the car had skidded, crashed into one of the countless outcrops of jagged rock that dotted the waste, and overturned. Shaken and terrified, Bob and Pancho cut through the wrecked top. With trembling hands they tried to drag the chauffeur free, but after one horrified glance at the fellow's battered face and crushed head they hastily retreated.
"Let's take food and the water bottles and get going," said Bob. "That poor chap is beyond help, and there's no use staying here."
"How about the guns?" asked Pancho, as they prepared to burrow beneath the car in search of food and the thermos bottles.
"What's the use," said Bob. "There's nothing to shoot in this desert, and we'll have to get someone to bring in the rest of the stuff. We can get the guns then. I'm not going to lug a gun across this desert. It'll be bad enough hiking as it is."
"I don't know," muttered Pancho. "I'll feel safer with my rifle."
"All right, take it if you want to," said Bob, "but mine stays right here."
It was not a pleasant job, salvaging the precious water bottles, the lunches provided for their journey, and the few other necessities while the dead man lay so close beside them; and it was a still more unpleasant duty to cover the body with the cushions and ripped top in order to protect it from the black vultures which already were gathering. At last it was done and the boys breathed sighs of relief.
"Now which way do we go?" asked Pancho, glancing at the glaring desert and distant mountains.
"Follow the road, of course," replied Bob.
"Yes, if there were a road to follow, but I don't see any."
The boys gazed about in bewilderment. Beyond the spot where the car had skidded, there was no sign of road, nothing to distinguish one part of the rock-strewn waste from another.
"I never noticed we weren't following a road," muttered Bob. "There was one back a ways. I wonder how far." Suddenly Pancho laughed. "We are boobs!" he exclaimed. "Even if there's no road, we can follow the wheel marks back the way we came."
"Yes and walk fifty miles before we get anywhere," said Bob. "We passed the last village a little after eight and it's now eleven.'"
"The Cholo said we'd be at a place called Palitos in time for lunch," Pancho declared. "So it can't be more than twenty-five miles away, but it might as well be a hundred if we don't know the road. I wonder how long we'd have to wait here before someone comes along?"
"We'd die of thirst," declared Bob. "This isn't the regular route to La Raya, you know. They generally go down to the coast and take a steamer at Lobos. Dad had us come this way because there won't be a ship for ten days. What's twenty-five miles? All we've got to do is to head for the hills, if Palitos is there."
"Fine!" Pancho exclaimed sarcastically. "There are thousands of hills. Count 'em."
"Well, the car was heading northeast so we can hike that way," declared Bob "Come on, feller, move your feet."
THE walking was not hard, and though the sun beat down mercilessly and the desert quivered with heat, the boys trudged doggedly on. But they had not learned that mirages in the Peruvian deserts can play tricks, that the hill they had selected as a guide to their objective did not exist—at least in that spot—but was really ten miles further than it appeared. Tired and hot they threw themselves down to rest at the foot of a billowy sand dune. They ate greedily, and washed the dry food down their parched throats with copious draughts from the thermos bottles.
"I guess we must be pretty near there," remarked Bob when, refreshed and with appetite satisfied, he rose and looked about. "I hate to think of climbing over these dunes."
"No reason why we should," said Pancho. "The car couldn't have done it so there must be a way around them."
They soon found that there were a dozen ways around——or rather between the sand hills. Moreover, they were criss-crossed with innumerable narrow trails.
"That looks like an old river bed to me," observed Pancho, as they pushed wearily onward. "I don't see how a car could ever get up here."
"Oh those Fords can go anywhere," grunted Bob. "Anyhow, this is a sort of pass and the trail still leads up it, so there must be someone in here."
Presently the trail swung around a jutting shoulder of the mountains, leaving the stony area behind, and zig-zagged up the steep slope.
The boys halted undecided. Should they follow the wash or keep to the trail? Finally, deciding that the trail was probably a short cut, and that from a height they could obtain a view of their surroundings, they turned up the narrow pathway. Up and up they climbed, until at last they came to a wide stretch of hard rocky puna, or upland desert.
"It doesn't look as if anyone ever lived here!" cried Bob. "Whew! I hope we don't have to go all the way back."
"I don't know," said Pancho, who was studying the surroundings carefully. "It looks as if there were a valley over between the hills to the left, and there's some green among the rocks. That means water and most likely the village is in the valley. Let's go on and see."
"There's green all right," declared Bob, a few minutes later. "Perhaps you're right, Gee Whittaker! I'd like to lie down and rest!"
"There's a house!" Pancho shouted suddenly.
Elated at thought of finding a village, they rushed forward. Clinging to the hillside was green vegetation, and, at the edge of the stunted growth, a hut; but the boys' faces fell as they reached it. The rude shelter of sticks and dry wild cane was empty; it had been deserted for months, as even their inexperienced eyes told them. And the vegetation consisted of only a scanty growth of wild cane, of giant prickly-pears and scraggly, dwarfed algorobo trees that clustered about a tiny fissure in the rocks where a trickle of moisture showed. Worst of all, there was no valley—only a dark, yawning canyon surrounded by forbidding cliffs.
UTTERLY spent, Bob and Pancho flung their tired bodies to the ground in the shadow of the abandoned hut. The sun was already dipping toward the west and the mountains cast long purple shadows across the rocky puna. Their tramp had been for nothing and night was fast approaching. Still the two did not realize the predicament they were in. They were confident that had they kept on up the pass, instead of striding off on the trail, they would by now have been in the village they sought.
"My feet are two big blisters," Bob groaned. "But, if we've got to go we might as well be on our way," he sighed resignedly. "I'd be too stiff to move if I stayed here much longer." For several minutes they tramped with heavy feet across the puna, then came to an abrupt halt. The trail led up, not down, the hillside. Silently the two boys, now inwardly fearing the worst, turned in the opposite direction only to find that the trail described a wide loop and again led up hill. "How are we going to get out of here?" Bob looked around helplessly. "Why didn't we notice some landmark?"
"Because we felt too cocksure there were people here," replied Pancho.
Suddenly he laughed. "There are your people!" he exclaimed.
"They're goats, and these paths are only goat trails!"
Pancho dropped to one knee and cocked his rifle. "Going to have fresh meat for dinner," he declared. The goats had approached within easy gun shot. A half-grown kid dropped in its tracks and the others scampered off.
There was plenty of fuel in the little thicket, a fire was soon blazing, and a hearty meal of broiled kid worked wonders in restoring the boys' spirits. To be sure, the sip of water they permitted themselves seemed only to increase their thirst, but they were too tired and sleepy to worry over it much. Stretching themselves on the warm sand, they were soon sleeping soundly.
SUNLIGHT streaming on their faces awakened them. "I've been thinking," observed Pancho, as they ate breakfast, "that the best plan is to climb one of these hills before it gets too hot. Then perhaps we can spot a valley where there's water or a village or something."
"All right," assented Bob, "but I hate to think of climbing up there and then being no better off."
"We can't be any worse off," Pancho reminded him. "We've either got to find a village or a stream or we'll be up against it, Bob. There's no use kidding ourselves. As it is we're lost and we haven't a decent drink of water left."
It was a terrible climb up the steep slope. Loose rocks rolled beneath their feet, the razor-edged outcrops cut their hands and shoes, and their thirst became an almost unbearable torture. At last they reached the summit and gazed about. Far below them was the little hidden desert surrounded by its rim of rocky ridges. Beyond the western hills lay the hazy expanse of the big desert, a shimmering sea of sand.
Their eyes swung hopefully, expectantly around the horizon, and they shouted triumphantly. Almost at their feet a deep valley lay between the hills, and in the bottom of the cleft was rich green vegetation and a sparkle of running water!
Promptly they drained the last of the precious fluid in their thermos bottles. No need to save those few drops now. Then, stopping only long enough to pick out a descent that seemed passable, they hurried downward towards the valley.
How they managed to reach the bottom without breaking their necks neither boy ever knew. They got there somehow, and threw themselves down beside the little stream.
"I never knew water could taste so good," exclaimed Bob, when at last he raised his dripping face. "I'm going to stay right here till we're rescued."
"I'm not," declared Pancho. "But just the same that water's the best thing I ever tasted."
Refreshed, and having bathed their dust-covered bodies and blistered feet in the cool water, they discussed their next move.
"I'll bet there are people not far away," declared Bob. "This is the only place we could see from the hill that had water."
"We'd better keep on up this valley," declared Pancho. "I'm for sticking to the water as long as we can. We won't die of thirst, and there should be game in these thickets."
As they walked up the valley, Pancho held his rifle ready. He had begun to fear that they would either have to go hungry or depend upon small birds for their lunch, when he saw something moving among the rocks and called his companion's attention to it.
"Looks like a rabbit to me," said Bob.
"Or a woodchuck," added Pancho. "Anyway, it may be good to eat, whatever it is."
The creature was now standing erect on its haunches watching the boys in the ravine below. It was an easy shot, and at the report of the rifle the beast tumbled and slid down the hillside.
"Maybe it's a chinchilla," suggested Pancho, as they examined their kill. "They live in Peru and their fur is valuable. We'd better save the skin, Bob."
"Do you suppose it's good to eat?" asked Bob.
"Guess it depends on how hungry we are," replied Pancho. "We'd better wait a while; it's not lunch time yet."
AS they continued up the valley they shot two more of the viscachas, as the gopher-like animals are called in Peru, and at Bob's suggestion that it would be easier to carry them in their stomachs than in their hands, they found a shady spot, built a fire and proceeded to broil their game. With their appetites whetted by their tramp, the tender white meat tasted most delicious even without salt or seasoning.
They were just finishing when, with a whirring of wings a large, brownish bird sprang from the ground almost at their feet and dropped into a tangle of vines across the little valley.
"Partridge!" exclaimed Pancho.
"Well, he'll be good for dinner," declared Bob. "Let's see if we can get him."
Cautiously the boys crept forward, but the vines and weeds were so thick that they couldn't detect the mountain partridge, or perdis. Not until they were within a few feet of it did it take flight with a roar that startled them. With only a rifle and a limited supply of ammunition their only hope was to get a fair shot at it when it alighted, but the bird, whose plumage blended perfectly with the sand and rocks, appeared to vanish as it dropped to the hillside.
Oblivious of all else, the boys crept, crawled and stalked the elusive perdiz, until at last Pancho brought it down with a lucky shot.
"Here 'tis!" cried Bob, dashing forward and holding it up in triumph. "Now we'll have a good dinner."
"And here's the end of the valley," exclaimed Pancho. "And not a sign of a house or a human being."
It was true. The valley narrowed into a mere rift in the mountains with almost perpendicular walls.
"How are we going to get out of here?" queried Bob.
For some time they examined the rocks, searching for a way up, but in vain. Then Bob discovered some ancient, crumbling masonry, and the two examined it with intense interest.
"It looks like a regular flight of steps leading out of here," declared Bob.
"No—I don't think so," said Pancho. "It curves the wrong way. Say! I know what it is—look, you can see it sticking to the rocks up there—it's part of an old bridge or viaduct that has fallen to pieces. There must have been a road up there, crossing this ravine."
"Maybe it's the old Inca road that Mr. Griswold told about!" cried Bob. "If so, we can follow it to some place. And I'll bet we can climb up here."
Carefully, for a slip meant a nasty fall and possibly broken bones, the two began clambering up the steep side of the little canyon, aided by the bits of masonry still adhering to the cliff. It was a hard climb, but at last it was accomplished and they stood safely on the summit above the canyon. Then, for the first time, they remembered about water and food.
"Whew!" ejaculated Bob. "We forgot to get water and the bottles are empty!"
"We are a couple of boobs," declared Pancho. "Well, we've simply got to climb down again."
"We might explore around a bit before trying to go down," said Bob hopefully. "Say, look here! We're on a road!"
UNQUESTIONABLY, a shelf of rock on the mountain side had been cut by hand. It was too even and level for a natural formation, and the remains of a stone pavement were visible amid the rocks and sand that had slid down the mountain through long centuries.
"It's a road all right," agreed Pancho. "Maybe the old Inca road. See, there's more of it across the canyon. It must have crossed over by a bridge once. I wonder where it leads."
"That's what we'll find out," said Bob positively. "We'll just hike along till we get somewhere."
Luck this time was with them. A few hundred yards beyond the ravine a stream trickled down the mountain, and the two drank all they could hold and filled the bottles. Then they walked steadily on, gradually ascending, until by the time they began to think of preparing to pass another night in the open they were thousands of feet above the desert where their car had been wrecked. On every side was a wilderness of peaks, ridges and purple canyons. In the distance, snow clad peaks gleamed against the sky.
"We're on top of the world!" cried Bob as they gazed about. The boys decided to spend the night where they were, and as they searched for dry agave stalks and twigs for fuel they discovered the half ruined walls of a stone building.
"Someone lived here once," declared Pancho. "Let's clean it out and camp inside; it's a lot better than staying out in the open." Very soon a fire was blazing in the ruins, and the perdiz was broiling over a bed of coals. Outside, the chill mountain wind whistled, but the boys were comfortable and warm. They laughed and chatted as they picked the bones of the big partridge, apparently as light-hearted and free from worry as if they had been on a week-end camping trip instead of lost among the Andes.
The fact that they had come upon the old road, that they were enjoying the shelter of what had once been a building, convinced both that they would soon reach a settlement. That the road had not been in use since the mail-clad soldiers of Pizarro traversed it more than four centuries before, that the stone walls that sheltered them from the biting wind were the remains of an Incan tambo or rest-house and had not been occupied since the days of Atahualpa, never occurred to them. Unaware of these facts, never dreaming that every mile they traveled along the ancient highway was taking them farther from La Raya, Palitos and all other outposts of civilization, the boys slept soundly, to awaken shivering in the chill morning air and with ravenous appetites.
"I wish we'd saved some of that bird for breakfast!" lamented Bob, as he crouched over the smouldering ashes of the fire.
"You're always wishing," Pancho reminded him. "I could wish a lot better than that. I could wish we had a heaping dish of hot buckwheat cakes and maple syrup and fried sausages or—"
"Oh, shut up!" cried Bob. "I wish we had some of that coca that the Indians chew to keep from being hungry."
"No use wishing for anything," said Pancho philosophically. "Come on, let's be on our way. Maybe we'll find something to shoot, even if it's only a buzzard!"
HALF an hour after leaving the ruined tambo they came in sight of a gravelly slope, and instantly dodged back. Less than a hundred yards distant they had seen several animals grazing.
"Deer!" whispered Pancho, cocking his rifle and cautiously wriggling forward.
As his shot rang out he sprang to his feet. "Got him!" he cried. "Golly, Bob! Look at those fellows go!"
"Whee! I've never seen anything step on it so fast!" exclaimed Bob, as the frightened creatures vanished in the distance.
"Well, we got one and now we can have breakfast," Pancho reminded him.
"It's not a deer," Bob said as they approached the dead animal.
"Looks more like llama," said Pancho.
"I know what it is! We saw one in the zoo at Lima. It's a vicuña!"
"Guess you're right. Anyhow, I suppose he's edible so let's find a place where we can build a fire and eat."
"We can't cook him whole," Bob observed. "We've got to skin him and dress him and wait till he's cold, you know."
"Seems to me it would be a lot easier and quicker to cut off his legs and leave the rest," declared Pancho. "We couldn't carry the whole thing along with us anyway."
Even to cut off the vicuña's hind quarters with only their pocket knives was no easy job, and the boys were tired, bloody and heartily sick of their amateur butchering before it was finally accomplished. Each carrying a haunch of the vicuña, they left the carcass to the buzzards and made their way to a little stream where they washed the blood from their hands and the meat. Soon two steaks were sizzling over a fire. Blackened, smoky, half-cooked as it was, the meat tasted delicious. As they were eating, they made a surprising discovery. They had built their fire against a big grayish-green object that Bob had thought was a moss-covered rock. Now as he gnawed at a slice of the meat and glanced at the dying fire, his jaws stopped working and he stared incredulously. The supposed rock was burning!
"Look! Look there!" he cried, seizing his companion's arm. "That rock's on fire!"
Pancho exclaimed in amazement. He picked up a heavy stone and threw it at the glowing mass. A shower of sparks flew up, there was a dull thud, and a piece of the burning object broke off.
"It's not a stone," he declared. "It's some sort of wood. Say, Bob, we're in luck! I've seen lots like it and now we know they'll burn, we won't have any more trouble over fuel."
"Say, that's a lucky break," declared Bob. "Let's build a big fire and roast this meat now. Then it won't spoil and we can eat it any time."
At once the boys began to gather a great pile of the strange woody masses, which were really yaretta plants, the customary fuel of the denizens of the higher Andes. Then, after roasting the vicuña, they started along the road. Back and forth around the mountain sides, along narrow ridges, zigzagging up the precipitous slopes, winding along the edges of mile-deep canyons, the ancient road led, until the boys were hopelessly confused. Seemingly near at hand, an immense snowcapped peak thrust its dazzling summit far above the surrounding mountains.
"I'll bet we're not far from La Raya," declared Bob. "Dad said the camp was on a mountain within sight of a glacier, and that's the only mountain with a glacier we've seen. My guess is that the mine's right on the other side of it, so all we have to do is to walk half-way around it."
"Sounds easy," Pancho replied, "but there may be canyons and all sorts of obstacles in the way. Anyhow, it's miles to that mountain, and a lot more miles around it. "
"You don't seem very worried over it," commented Bob, "and somehow I can't get terribly scared myself. But I am troubled about Dad. He must be worrying, and wondering what's happened."
"We were fools to have left the car," said Pancho. "If we'd only stayed there they'd have found us. It's too late now. Come on, the sooner we get started the sooner we'll get somewhere."
PRESENTLY, they realized that they were no longer climbing upward. Glancing back, Bob saw that they had already descended several hundred feet.
"We're going down hill!" he cried, "Probably this old road leads into some valley where there are people."
"We're going down, all right," agreed Pancho, "but likely as not we'll be climbing again in ten minutes. The fellows that built this road just went wherever they felt like it. You're right, though, Bob! There's a valley down there and green stuff!" Far below them opened a deep valley richly green.
Feeling sure they were nearing inhabited country, the boys hurried forward. Sliding and slipping, barking knees and shins, yelping with pain as they bumped into clumps of cacti, they at last reached the bottom of the slope in a cloud of dust and a small avalanche of dislodged gravel and stones.
"Well here we are, but where are we?" remarked Pancho.
"How should I know?" grinned Bob. "There are trees down farther, and water. Let's have a bath and wash some of this mountain off of us."
Refreshed by their bath in the cold water, they started down the valley.
"There's one thing sure," announced Pancho presently. "If we can follow this stream it's bound to lead to a river, and as people nearly always live near rivers we're certain to find someone in time. And if there's any game anywhere it will be where there are water and trees.
"The vicuña wasn't," Bob reminded him.
"No, but we might hunt for a month and not see any more of them," declared Pancho. "I'll—Gosh, Bob! What was that!"
They halted in their tracks, listening intently. From somewhere ahead sounded a piercing scream followed by snarling growls, groans and the crashing of brush!
The Open Road for Boys, November 1931, with
second part of "The Incas' Treasure House"
A. Hyatt Verrill in Indian costume.
WE want you to meet Mr. A. Hyatt Verrill, author of The Incas' Treasure House. Here he is dressed in his Indian costume, as Chief Cuviboranandi of the Guaymi Indians, a wild Panama tribe. When you are reading this story, you may feel sure that the author "knows his stuff," for he is an explorer of wide renown. He has penetrated distant Central and South American jungles, climbed perilous mountain peaks, mingled with wild Indian tribes and won their confidence, to the extent of being adopted into a tribe. He is the only white man who has seen the fabulously rich gold mine of Tisingal, in Costa Rica, and lived to tell of it, since the Indians killed the Spanish miners long ago, and swore death to any white man who should ever seek to lay eyes on the treasure again. And it was all because he cured the chief's young daughter of an illness that this honor was bestowed on him. His own experiences are as interesting as any story that he could write, and that's saying a good deal.
BOB STILLWELL and Pancho McLean, who has lived in Mexico and speaks Spanish, are on their way to La Raya mining camp in Peru, where Bob's father is manager and where they are to spend their summer vacation. On the last lap of their journey they are met by one of the company's cars and are speeding over barren wastes toward their distant goal when the car overturns killing the native chauffeur. Bob and Pancho hike off in what they think is the direction of La Raya, but they soon become hopelessly lost and, following an ancient abandoned road, wander farther and farther into the fastness of the Andes. They manage to find water and kill enough game for their needs. As this installment opens they have just been started by a piercing scream, followed by groans and crashing of brush near at hand.
STARTLED by the piercing scream, the two boys dashed into the thicket toward the sound. Bursting through a dense tangle, they came suddenly upon an open space in which an Indian was battling for his life with a tawny spotted creature—a huge jaguar. His poncho was torn and bloodstained, one arm hung limp at his side, and though he struggled frantically to rise to his feet, an injured leg refused to support him. His only weapon, a heavy club, provided little defense against the great cat. Rearing on its hind legs, striking viciously and with lightning speed, green eyes blazing and gleaming teeth bared in a snarl, the creature seemed to be certain of its prey.
All this Bob and Pancho took in at a single glance. To their terrified eyes the jaguar appeared as huge as a lion, but in their pity for the helpless Indian they gave no thought to their own danger. Springing to within a few feet of the jaguar, Pancho poured four bullets into the spotted hide as fast as he could pull the trigger. With a savage roar the creature turned and leaped toward its new enemy with jaws open and great claws wide- spread.
For a moment Pancho's bullets seemed to have no effect and he could almost feel the ripping blow of those terrible claws, the agony of those crushing, gleaming fangs. Bob's excited yells and the snarling growls of the jaguar rang in his ears. He felt certain they were the last sounds he would ever hear.
Staggering back, he swung his empty rifle upward, but before he could strike, the spotted fiend half turned in the air, bit savagely at its flank and collapsed in a lifeless heap.
Pancho tripped and fell but was up in an instant, hurrying with Bob to the side of the Indian who was stretched unconscious on the ground. Wide-eyed, the two boys gazed at the man's ghastly wounds. Scarcely an inch of his skin was left un-scored by the jaguar's claws. The left wrist was broken and the flesh torn from the shoulder exposing the bone. One leg had been bitten through. He still breathed, but it seemed as if death would come at any moment. Despite the seeming hopelessness of the task, the boys started at once to do what they could for the injured native.
"I'm mighty glad we brought our first-aid kits along," said Pancho. "Fill your hat with water from the brook, Bob. We'll need lots of it."
WITH shaking hands they bathed the worst wounds, applied antiseptics and exhausted the supply of bandages. Quickly they tore their shirts into strips, sprinkled them with the remaining disinfectants and placed tourniquets about the torn arm and leg to stop the flow of blood. Fortunately the leg bone was not broken, but the fractured wrist was bad.
"We'll never be able to fix that!" declared Pancho, turning white as he examined the injury. "I know you're supposed to pull a broken bone into place, but—I—I'm afraid to pull this. It looks as if the least pull would tear the hand from the arm. It's terrible!"
Bob, too, was pale and his stomach was giving him most uncomfortable sensations. "Maybe if we shut our eyes and felt of it we could tell where the bones belonged, and sort of push 'em back."
Never had they faced a more trying job, but at last it was done and the two breathed sighs of relief. There were still the deep wounds to be attended to. The tourniquets had practically stopped the flow of blood but they could not be left in place indefinitely. So, mustering their courage once more, the boys carefully examined the raw flesh, washing away the blood, and tentatively loosened the ligatures. To their joy they found the bleeding had almost stopped, and feeling sure no arteries had been severed, they removed the tourniquets and bound up the wounds.
As they finished, they suddenly became aware that the Indian had regained consciousness. His eyes were open, but no murmur or groan came from his lips.
"Gee, he is stoical!" exclaimed Bob. "And he must want a drink."
As he spoke Bob placed a water bottle to the man's lips. He drank greedily, and then, mumbling unintelligible words, reached weakly with his uninjured hand toward a small leather wallet at his belt. Wondering what the contents, might be, Bob opened it and guided the trembling fingers to it. Within were a number of dried leaves and a small lump of what looked like gray chalk. "What do you suppose those are?" asked Bob, as the groping fingers withdrew a few leaves and the little chalky lump.
"I know!" exclaimed Pancho. "It's coca—don't you remember your father writing about the way the Indians chew coca leaves and can go all day without food or rest because of them?"
"Yes, I guess that's it," agreed Bob. "Say, I wouldn't mind having some myself right now, I'm weak as a cat."
"Don't talk about cats being weak," said Pancho. "There's one right over there that was anything but weak."
"What'll we do next," demanded Bob. "Here we are with this half-dead Indian on our hands and nowhere to take him. He won't be able to walk for weeks, even if he gets better."
"I guess we'll have to camp here till he walks—or dies," said Pancho resignedly. "We can't go off and leave him alone. And I guess we can find game. Anyhow, we can eat that jaguar if worse comes to worst."
"Not I," declared Bob. "I'd just as soon eat buzzards."
"It's a shame to lose his skin," observed Pancho with regret. "I may never kill another jaguar. And—"
He was interrupted by the Indian who was trying to speak. They caught the words, "Tonak," "huauki," "uturunku," "kispishkuni," and others, but they meant nothing for the man was speaking in his native Quichua.
The boys shook their heads, and Pancho spoke to him slowly in Spanish, telling him they did not understand. The man nodded, was silent for a moment, apparently puzzling over something, and then in halting, broken Spanish, he mumbled, "You are my brothers. You have killed the great tiger. I, Tonak, am your brother and your slave."
"That's all right," commented Bob. "We'd have done as much for anyone. But I'd rather find a village than have a slave. Ask him where he lives and if it's far."
But the Indian appeared to have lapsed into unconsciousness again.
"He's a queer looking chap," observed Pancho. "Doesn't look like any of the other Indians we've seen."
NOW that they began to notice the man's appearance, the boys discovered a number of strange facts. As Pancho had said, the man was quite different. His skin was a clear golden-yellow in color, his nose large, thin and aquiline, and his long hair was held in place by a narrow band of silver. Even his clothes seemed unlike those of other Indians they had seen. His tunic-like blouse and knee-long trousers were richly decorated with designs in brilliant colors, while about his neck hung a colored cord supporting a carved stone llama and a lapis-lazuli charm.
"I wonder what he was doing here," mused Bob. "Funny he had nothing but a club. I should think—Hello! Look there, Pancho! He had a spear, too."
Not far away lay a broken javelin with the point missing, and the boys also found a powerful bow and two broken arrows. "Looks as if he was hunting," observed Pancho. "Probably the beast came on him unexpectedly. Say, what do you suppose this is?"
He had picked up a peculiar object, a slender hardwood stick about fifteen inches long, with a curved bone grip at one end and a small silver hook at the other.
"Looks like a magician's wand to me," declared Bob, "but I don't see what the hook and handle are for."
Suddenly Pancho whistled. "I know what 'tis!" he exclaimed. "I remember seeing them—or something like them—in Mexico when I was a kid. The Indian boys at Tlaclan used them. They called them atlatls and they used them for throwing spears."
"I don't see how any one could throw a spear with that thing," Bob interrupted.
"I'll show you," replied Pancho. Picking up one of the arrows he grasped the atlatl in his right hand, rested the arrow on his doubled fingers, holding it in place with the first finger, and with its butt against the silver hook. Then, with a sweep of his right arm, he sent the shaft flying across the clearing.
"Say, that goes all right!" cried Bob. "But—look, the old chap's waked up."
The boys hurried to the side of the wounded Indian. He asked for water and when this had been given him he again closed his eyes.
"He's in bad shape," muttered Pancho. "I don't believe he'll live until morning, but we'll make him as comfortable as we can."
By means of canes and palm leaves they managed to rig up a shelter over the injured man, and gathering a supply of brush and dead limbs they prepared a camp-fire near-by. As the sun sank behind the western ranges, the two boys prepared their evening meal, cutting slices of the partly roasted haunch of vicuña and toasting them over a small fire. As they worked the Indian watched with half closed eyes and expressionless face.
"I wonder if he's hungry," said Bob. "Maybe he could eat a slice of meat."
"I don't know," replied Pancho. "If I were as badly hurt I wouldn't have any appetite. I guess Indians must be tougher than white men, though. If we had a cup or something we might make him a sort of broth."
"Can't we use the tops of the thermos bottles?" suggested Bob.
"Fine!" cried Pancho. "They're small but he probably won't want much."
Shredding some of the juiciest of the meat, the boys simmered it over the coals in the metal covers of the bottles. The result, despite the cinders and bits of ashes it contained, was nourishing, and the Indian gulped it down ravenously and asked for more.
"Poor chap!" muttered Pancho. "I'll bet he's suffering terribly but he's not even groaned since we began fixing him up. I'm beginning to think he may pull through yet."
"I'm sorry for him of course," Bob replied, "but it does seem mighty bad luck that the first man we've met should be torn to pieces and half dead, forcing us to stick here when we might be on our way to La Raya."
"Yet, that's so," Pancho agreed. "Just, the same it's got to be done unless the old chap can tell us how to reach a village and one of us goes there and gets help. Anyhow there's no use worrying over it tonight. Things may be different in the morning."
NEXT morning, the Indian appeared to be more comfortable and stronger. "He surely is a tough old bird," commented Bob. "Now I suppose we ought to change the dressings on his wounds."
"Yes, I know we should," agreed Pancho, "but we can't. If we tear up any more of our clothes we'll be pretty near naked, and we're just about out of antiseptics anyway. We'll have to let it go for another day and trust to luck."
"We might wash out the bandages and use 'em over again," suggested Bob. "If we boiled them it would sterilize them."
"Yes, I guess that's so," assented Pancho.
"I hadn't thought of that. I—"
The Indian's voice interrupted him. He was speaking Spanish slowly, in almost inaudible tones. "An hour towards the rising sun—village of my people. The way lies down the valley to a great black rock and the trail is clear. That my people may know you are my brothers and that you come from me, take with you this." As he spoke, he reached uncertain fingers to the charm hanging about his neck.
Pancho stooped and lifted the cord over the Indian's head. The injured man smiled wanly and after a moment's silence, spoke again. "Fear not to enter my village. Cry aloud these words: 'Ama-Yulya-Ama, Sua-Ama-Kuo-lya.'" (No enemy, no thief. The ancient Incan salutation of the Quichuas.)
"That's easy," declared Pancho as he repeated the six words.
"Your people—they know Spanish?"
The Indian nodded. "There are some who do," he replied. "Kespi, Wini, Kenko and others who have dwelt among the white skins."
"One of us must stay here," Bob declared. "If we left this man alone a jaguar or some beast might attack him and— well, there are those vultures up there—" he looked up at the sky where broad winged buzzards swung in great circles.
"I'll go and you stay here," said Pancho. "My Spanish is better. I can talk with the villagers."
"All right," Bob replied. "Hurry all you can."
The trail offered little difficulty to Pancho. At the end of an hour he came to the ruins of a great stone bridge. From there on the jungle had been cleared and the hillsides were covered with small terraced gardens in which grew maize, barley, peas, sweet potatoes, peanuts and various other vegetables, while here and there were fruit trees. Picking up some ripe duraznos (a kind of peach) that had fallen, Pancho almost ran down the winding pathway until suddenly he saw the village just ahead. Evidently, the Indians at once caught sight of him for he heard cries of alarm, and saw hurrying figures vanishing into doorways and children scurrying to cover like frightened partridges.
Not until then did he remember the Indian's six words. He shouted them at the top of his lungs, then moving slowly forward, repeated them. For a time there was no response, but presently the people timidly appeared, ready to turn and run at any moment. The instant he held up the cord with the carved stone llama, however, their manner completely changed. Chattering, exclaiming, they pressed about Pancho as he tried to describe what had happened.
TWO young Indians now stepped forward and the elder spoke to Pancho in fairly good Spanish. "I am Kespi," he said, "the nephew of Tonak, and this is my brother, Kenko. We are your brothers and your slaves, for you have saved the life of our curaca (chief or governor). We will prepare a litter to bring Tonak to his village. But you are weary. Eat and drink that you may be strong for the journey before us."
As the two brothers led him through a narrow street between low stone houses Pancho looked about with intense interest. Everywhere were Indians, but they were not at all as he had imagined they would be. As a youngster, he had seen plenty of wild Indians in Mexico, and somehow he had imagined the Indians of these remote Peruvian mountains as more like the North American redmen—naked, painted, feather-bedecked. Instead he found them far more civilized than the denizens of the smaller Peruvian towns, and their streets, houses, garments and persons all seemed far neater and cleaner than those of the white or cholo villagers. He knew that the Peruvians at the time of the Spanish conquest had been highly civilized under the Incas, but he had never dreamed that any of them had retained their ancient civilization or habits.
Had Pancho been an ethnologist or an archeologist he would have been most amazed and excited, for though he did not realize it, he was among Huancas, so remote from contact with white men that they had retained practically all the customs, the religion, the costumes and the culture of the Incas. Though several of them had visited the outside world, this tribe was unknown even to the Peruvian authorities. It had literally been lost for centuries in its mountain fastnesses. Tonak—and his fathers before him—had taken every care that the people should remain isolated. They had frowned upon the introduction of anything savoring of the white men, the despoilers of their race. No modern inventions were permitted in the village, although steel machetes, axes, knives, needles and similar tools and implements were used.
They lived just as their ancestors had lived before the days of Pizarro. With snares, traps, bows and arrows, throwing spears and slings they secured all the game they needed; there were plenty of fish in the streams; they raised their own cotton, had their llamas, and alpacas, wove the finest of cloths on hand- looms, and were expert potters and basket makers. From the beds of the rivers they washed what gold they required for making ornaments; copper was abundant in the hills as well as pockets of silver.
Of course Pancho did not learn all this at once, but as he ate his breakfast of mote (hulled corn), purutu (beans) and charki (dried meat) and drank the sweet ciderlike aka (corn chicha) and revelled in the luscious duraznos (peaches) and cherimoyas (custard apples), Kespi and Kenko asked innumerable questions and told him something about their village and their people. By the time the litter and the men were ready to start for the distant glade where the wounded curaca lay awaiting them, Pancho had begun to realize that he had suddenly stepped back four centuries or more.
THE litter proved to be a hammocklike affair of llama wool ropes woven into a coarse net and filled with soft woolen robes. Four stalwart men went along as carriers, together with two others armed with heavy spears, slings, bows and arrows and atlatls, and finally Kespi, Kenko and Pancho.
The return journey seemed very short. Almost before Pancho realized it, they came in sight of the little glade and the rude shelter over the wounded chief.
Bob sprang to his feet as the party appeared. "Looks like you've brought a regular army along!" he cried. "Seems as if you'd been gone a week. Say! Do you know who our Indian is? He's—"
"King of the place—" supplied Pancho with a grin. "How is he feeling?"
The Indians had gathered about their chief, prostrating themselves beside him, lifting his uninjured hand to their foreheads and moaning with pity and sorrow at sight of his injuries. Presently one of the warriors hurried to where the dead jaguar lay and began to talk to it.
"Look at him!" exclaimed Bob. "What do you suppose he's doing?" Pancho shook his head. "I'll ask Kespi and Kenko," he said. To his questions the Indian boys replied that the man was asking the spirit of the creature to forgive them for having killed it.
"But why?" asked Pancho. "Why should he ask forgiveness when the beast nearly killed your curaca?"
Then, somewhat hesitatingly, Kespi explained that as the Huancas regarded a jaguar as sacred, and as the abiding place of a very powerful divinity, they felt that whenever it was necessary to take a jaguar's life they must try and propitiate the offended spirit.
"Well, if that doesn't beat anything!" said Bob.
Pancho grinned. "You don't know the half of it, Bob. Wait till you get into their village. Talk about the Yankee at the court of King Arthur! Why, that fellow wasn't in it with us. We're at the court of an Inca! What do you know about that?"
Bob laughed derisively. "Go on, you can't kid me that way!" he declared. "The last Inca died over four hundred years ago."
"So they say," admitted Pancho, as the little group with the wounded curaca in his improvised litter left the glade, "but I'm not kidding you, Bob. From what Kespi and Kenko tell me I shouldn't be a bit surprised if their uncle Tonak is an Inca. Inca merely means a king."
IN due time they reached the village. Apparently Tonak was none the worse for his journey, and with a plentiful supply of clean cloths at their disposal the boys dressed his wounds and were relieved to find that there was no infection and that the cuts were beginning to heal.
"Who'll say we're not heap big doctors?" laughed Bob. "Let's hang out a sign and start a hospital! I'll bet we'd get all the patients we could handle, and more too."
Pancho grinned. "I'll bet we would," he agreed. But they soon discovered there was no chance to start a medical career in the village. A wrinkled, bent old woman arrived on the scene with a supply of herbs, roots and powders, and took complete charge of Tonak's case. Though she grumblingly condescended to let the boys attend to the broken wrist and allowed them to do the bandaging, she replaced their antiseptics with bruised leaves and strange looking unguents, then she dosed the curaca with weird brews. To the boys' surprise, the treatment had an almost magical effect.
"No hocus-pocus about her," declared Bob. "She knows her job all right. I wonder what the things are that she uses. If a fellow could find out he could make a fortune putting them on the market. Funny these Indians should know about medicine."
"Why?" demanded Pancho. "These Peruvian Indians used quinine ages before white men ever heard about it. They had sarsaparilla, ipecac, rhubarb, cascara and castor oil, so why shouldn't they know about a lot of medicines?"
"Listen to the professor!" laughed Bob. "Where did you learn all that, Pancho?"
"Out of a book, dumbbell," grinned Pancho. "I read all I could find about Peru before we came down here."
"So did I," replied Bob, "but I've forgotten nearly all I read. Say, why can't we be on our way to La Raya or somewhere, now the chief has a nurse to look after him?"
"I suppose we can," said Pancho. "I'll ask Kespi and Kenko about getting some one to guide us."
To the boys' astonishment, Kespi insisted that there was no one in the village who could guide them to La Raya or even to Palitos. Tonak, he declared, was the only person who knew the route to the northern settlements. Moreover the journey would be most difficult and dangerous. He advised them to wait until Tonak had recovered.
"I'll bet the old chief won't be able to walk for two weeks," lamented Bob. "It'll be twice as long before he'll be strong enough to take such a trip."
"If he ever is," supplemented Pancho. "With that injury to his leg I don't see how he ever will be able to do much. Seems to me there's something queer about the matter. You can't tell me these people don't know the way to every place in Peru. I don't believe we're so awfully far from La Raya at that. Now why don't they want to take us there?"
"How should I know," muttered Bob, "unless they want to hold us for ransom."
Pancho laughed heartily. "If we were in China or Greece or some other wild place where there are brigands, or even in Mexico for that matter, I might think it possible. But not here with these Indians, Bob. In the first place old Tonak owes his life to us and Indians remember a kindness just as much as they remember an injury. No, old timer, it's something else, but—"
"Well, whatever 'tis we're stuck," declared Bob gloomily.
"Not by a long shot!" said Pancho. "We're safe, we have plenty to eat and drink, and if you weren't worrying about your father, you'd think it a swell adventure."
"Maybe you're right—in a way," admitted Bob. "I can't help thinking how Dad must feel, not knowing what's become of us. If I could only let him know, it would be different."
"Being gloomy won't help him any," Pancho said. "I don't believe he does think anything serious has happened to us. Probably he has men trailing us through the mountains right now. Shouldn't be a bit surprised to see them appear any time."
"Well—" Bob sighed—"I guess you're right. Let's see how old Tonak's getting on, and then go fishing or hunting."
TONAK was doing wonderfully well. Thanks to his rugged constitution and the native doctor's medicines, his wounds were healing rapidly. He smiled as the boys approached his doorway where he was basking in the sun and asked if they were comfortable. Again and again he declared that they were his sons and brothers and that he and all his people were their slaves.
"I wish they were," muttered Bob. "Then I'd order them to take us out of here. Why don't we ask him what the trouble is?"
The old chief nodded as Pancho told him of their desires and asked why the men seemed unwilling to guide them to a settlement or the mine. Then for a space he sat silent, apparently deep in thought.
"My people obey the orders of their curaca," he said at last in his slow, halting Spanish. "I have told them not to take you through the mountains. Ill might befall you and then I, Tonak, would be sad. Few know the way, and it is my wish to go with you. That your father may not be worried I have sent a messenger to carry word that you are safe and will return soon. I and my people owe what we can never repay, but white men, my sons, love riches, and riches we can give you. Wait but a little time and all will be well."
"I guess that's final," observed Pancho. "I was wrong about there being some mystery. Tonak's just afraid something might happen to us."
"I like his nerve!" exclaimed Bob angrily. "Why didn't he tell us a messenger was going to La Raya? Then I could have sent a letter to Dad. And what does he mean about giving us riches?"
Pancho shook his head. "Probably some sort of present," he said. "He used the word ricos which is poor Spanish and means rich people. But I suppose he meant riquezas. Maybe it's ponchos or robes or some gold and silver. I admit it's queer about his not sending a messenger to La Raya and not letting us know. Well, what's the good of worrying? Let's enjoy ourselves the best we can. Hello, here come our three friends. Now let's see how much Quichua we've learned."
KESPI, Kenko and Wini were returning from their hillside gardens and the two boys hurried to meet them. Ever since they had reached the village Bob and Pancho had been picking up the native language. They had found the words easy to pronounce and could "get along," as Bob put it, with the Indian youths by padding out with Spanish.
"Alli-punchantin!" cried Pancho in greeting. "Maipi—er—"
"Maipita-rinqui?" supplied Bob, "only—" he added, "I don't believe that's right. It means where are you going, and I suppose you wanted to ask where they'd been."
The three Indians were grinning. "Alla-right!" said Wini suddenly. The two boys looked at him in surprise.
"Say," exclaimed Pancho, "Where'd you learn that?"
His question was beyond Wini's comprehension. "Na macunipac huasita" (now to my house to eat), he replied in answer to the boys' first question.
"Chaupi punchau huaska chitanipac" (after noon we go for a hunt), added Kespi. "Rini-munani?" (Want to go?)
The boys grinned. "Too much for me," declared Pancho in Spanish. "I get the house and eating part and the 'want to go' but what's the rest?"
"Something about hunting," put in Bob.
Kenko translated. "Kespi says after noon we go to hunt. You like to come?"
"You bet!" replied the boys in chorus.
"Chu-pet!" repeated Wini with a broad grin. "What that mean?"
Unable to explain in Quichua the boys told him in Spanish, and added the words "your life" to the Indian's vocabulary.
Kespi had been mumbling something to himself. "What it mean—Karsh?" he asked.
The boys laughed. "Gosh!" Bob corrected him. It means—well, it means about the same as caramba."
Kespi grinned from ear to ear. "Karsh-chu-petchu-life-alla- right!" he cried delightedly.
Pancho slapped him on the back. "Fine!" he exclaimed.
"Maybe the boys back home wouldn't be surprised if they could look in and see us here!" said Bob, as he helped himself to a calabash of boiled corn and beans, that noon. "Eating lunch with a couple of Incan Indians up here on the back side of the Andes!"
Pancho, who was gnawing at an ear of sweet corn, nodded. "I'll bet if anyone asked them they'd say we'd have to eat monkey or raw fish or bugs or lizards or something," he said. "And here we are eating just as good food as we would back home—corn and beans, baked potatoes, squash and wheat cakes—"
"Barley cakes," Bob corrected.
"Well, barley then, and honey and crawfish and peaches and—"
"If you eat all that you'll die," laughed Bob.
"Well, it's here to eat if we want it," argued Pancho. "Say, it's not so bad being a wild Indian after all. I—"
"Well, cut it out," Bob admonished him. "You've eaten twice as much as any of the rest now, and they're all waiting for you. You forget we're going on a vicuña hunt."
"I'D LIKE to know how they expect to get vicuñas with those things," observed Bob, as the boys watched their Indian friends preparing for the hunt. "From what I saw of the vicuñas we met, a fellow needs a good rifle and has to be some shot to get them. These chaps have only spears and clubs."
As they saw Kespi drop two great balls of fine cord into a bag slung over his shoulder they were even more puzzled.
"Now what do you suppose they're going to use that for?" exclaimed Pancho. "It's too fine to use in tying anything and what do they want string for anyway?"
"Look!" cried Bob. "They're taking a drum and one of those flute things they call quenas, and a horn trumpet. Anyone would think we were going to a dance instead of a hunt, and what on earth are they carrying that bundle of sticks for?"
"Maybe they charm the beasts," laughed Pancho. "I know Dad used to tell about attracting antelopes within range by making queer noises or waving a rag or something of the sort. Maybe vicuñas can be attracted by Indian music."
"After seeing that chap begging the dead jaguar's pardon because we killed him I can believe most anything," declared Bob. "Anyhow, I'm going to ask about it."
The Indians either would not or could not explain. They grinned, and Kespi declared: "All things for make get vicuñas. Pretty soon you see."
It was a long tramp from the village to the puna beyond the mountain summit, and they panted, puffed and perspired as they toiled up the steep, narrow pathway.
As they neared the top of the ridge, the Indians gestured for silence, and crawling forward on hands and knees, cautiously raised their heads and peered over the rocks. Bob and Pancho did the same. Before them appeared a wide, almost level expanse of puna, and about five hundred yards from where the hunting party crouched was a herd of at least fifty of the graceful, slender-limbed, buff and white vicuñas. Wholly unaware that enemies were near, they played and gambolled about, while the boys watched them fascinated.
Never had they imagined that any living creatures could move so rapidly. Running in circles so swiftly that they appeared but blurs, the creatures would suddenly leap upward as if impelled by springs, and wheeling in mid-air, would resume their mad race in the opposite direction. Others would bound from the earth like rubber balls, and turning complete somersaults, would be off like the wind as their hoofs touched the ground, moving so swiftly that, as Bob put it, you couldn't see anything but their dust.
"It seems a shame to kill them," whispered Pancho.
"Well, I don't see how we're going to get any nearer," said Bob. "The minute they see us they'll be off like a shot." There isn't enough cover to hide a rat between here and where they are."
THE Indians evidently had no intention of approaching closer to the vicuñas. Two of them, crouching, hurried off to the left while Kespi and Kenko, motioning the boys to follow, went to the right.
For fully a quarter of a mile the Indians led the way around the ridge, always keeping below the summit. Then once more they crept up and peered over. The vicuñas were now scarcely visible, and their position was betrayed only by the cloud of dust they stirred up in their frolics.
Rising, the Indians climbed over the intervening rocks with Bob and Pancho at their heels. Then to the boys' surprise, Kespi took a stick from the bundle he carried and planted it firmly in the sand. One end of a ball of twine was fastened to the upright stick, and unwinding it as he proceeded, Kenko walked rapidly forward across the desert for several hundred feet. Then another stick was erected, the twine attached, and again Kenko hurried forward.
"Now what do you know about that!" exclaimed Bob. "Are these fellows going to build a fence or are they stringing that twine so we can find our way back? I—"
"Look there!" cried Pancho, pointing to the north. "Those other two are doing the same thing. It's the strangest stunt I've ever seen."
"Even if it were wire it wouldn't make a fence," Bob remarked.
"They must be crazy," Pancho announced when Kespi had replied to his questions. “They say they are preventing the vicuñas from getting away!"
"Oh, they're just jollying us," declared Bob. "Hello! Those other fellows are close to us."
For the first time Bob and Pancho realized that the two lines of posts and strings were converging. Presently Kespi and his brother were side by side with the two others. Placing two of the strongest sticks about three feet apart they fastened the strings to them and dropped the remainder of the balls of twine on the ground.
Close to where they stood was a low ridge of outcropping rock, and beckoning to the boys, Kespi and Kenko, armed with spears and clubs, seated themselves behind the little rise while the other Indians, one carrying the drum and quena, the other with the horn trumpet and a brilliant red poncho, turned and started back across the puna, following the lines of string.
"I'd like to know when the hunt's going to begin," said Pancho. He turned and put the query to the Indians.
THE two Huancas looked astonished. Then, with a broad grin, Kenko told them the hunt already had begun. Seeing the white boys were still mystified the Indians began to explain. Vicuñas, they said, were strange creatures. Though very wary and fleet of foot they were very stupid beasts and could be easily killed. One way was to find the places where they slept, and while the vicuñas were away during the day build little stone shelters or blinds close to the beds. Then at night the hunters could lie behind these and shoot down the creatures when they came to rest.
At such times, Kespi stated, several of the vicuñas could be taken before the others ran off, and no matter how many were killed they would return to the spot night after night until all had been destroyed. Another way was much quicker and easier. Vicuñas, he informed the boys, would never dare to cross a barrier in the shape of a string. Even if it were a mere thread they would keep clear and follow it along, seeking some place where they might escape through an opening. So, by stretching converging lines of string and then driving the herd between them, the stupid beasts would rush along, until at the narrow opening at the end, they could readily be clubbed or speared. In a few moments, he added, they would see the creatures coming towards them, frightened by the noise of the drum and horn.
"Well, if those vicuñas do come running along here as if those strings were twenty foot walls, I'll swallow anything they tell me hereafter," said Bob, "but the queerest thing yet is the way that chap begged the jaguar's forgiveness."
"I don't know about that," stated Pancho. "Isn't it queer to find Indians living just the way their ancestors did five hundred years ago? Isn't it queer to find Indians like these speaking Spanish?"
"Oh rats!" exclaimed Bob. "What's queer about a bunch of Indians living up here and speaking Spanish? And who says they're living the way they did hundreds of years ago? And how do you get that way about old Tonak being an Inca? Be yourself, Pancho, you're too darned romantic and imaginative."
"And you're too blind and stupid to see what's right in front of your nose," Pancho retorted. "These Indians wear just the same sort of clothes and use the same weapons that are shown in the old pictures of the Incas. They don't use anything modern except knives and hatchets and such things, and I heard one of the men talking to Tonak and he addressed him as 'Inca.' And if you noticed, you'll remember that whenever that old doctor comes in, or anyone else visits Tonak, they always are carrying something on their backs. Well, I read in a book that in the old days they always did that same thing when approaching an Inca. Besides they still worship the sun. You know that half-ruined stone building back of the village?"
Bob nodded. "Yes, I thought of going up there, but Kespi said there was nothing to see."
Pancho grinned. "He would," he declared. "But there's a lot to see. I went over there yesterday when you were off with that little sister of Wini's gathering peaches—and it's all fixed up inside with rugs and hangings and an altar and idols and a big plate with a face on it that looks like gold."
Bob's eyes widened. "Gold!" he exclaimed. "How big is it?"
"It must be as big as an automobile wheel," replied Pancho. "If it is gold it must be worth a fortune. And these people have gold ornaments so why—"
His words were interrupted by the distant sounds of shouts, blasts of a horn and a queer low rumbling noise. The Indians grasped their weapons and rose to a stooping posture, tense, expectant.
NOT more than two hundred yards distant, a herd of vicuñas was dashing towards the spot where Bob and Pancho with the two Indians, Kespi and Kenko, were hidden. And behind the terrified creatures, shouting, beating their drum, blowing on the horn, and waving the red poncho, raced the other Indians in a cloud of dust.
The vicuñas seemed to have lost their heads completely. Every moment or two those in the lead would swing towards the slender lines of twine as if about to break through, only to halt abruptly, snort with terror, and come dashing onward, seeking for some spot not closed by the flimsy barrier.
The boys could scarcely believe their eyes. That such strong, active creatures could be kept within bounds by mere strings, breakable almost at a touch, seemed incredible. But there was little time for wonder. The converging lines soon forced the vicuñas into a struggling mass. They saw the narrow opening ahead and paid no heed to anything else. Behind them were enemies and a terrifying noise; on either side were the fearsome white strings; but before them was an opening, and their one thought was to reach it. Even when the waiting Indians leaped up and took positions on cither side of the opening, the creatures did not turn back. A moment more and the first vicuña leaped between the two last posts, only to be struck down by a club in Kespi's hand. Quickly the Indian stooped, seized the fallen creature by the legs and dragged it aside as a second animal plunged through the opening to be pierced by Kenko's spear.
Bob and Pancho gazed upon the strange scene speechless with wonder. Paying no heed to their dead, the vicuñas continued to spring through the opening and to be killed, until nearly a dozen had fallen. Then, with a shout, the two Indians dropped their weapons and jerked up the posts. The strings fell, and instantly, like a released torrent, the remainder of the herd bolted in every direction.
"More like butchering cattie than hunting," commented Pancho, "but I suppose you can't blame the Indians. It's the only way they can get the beasts, and they need skins and meat."
"How on earth do four Indians expect to carry all these vicuñas to the village?"
Pancho chuckled. "Perhaps they expect us to carry some of them," he said.
Neither boy realized the carrying ability of the Indians. The best portions of the meat, with the livers and hearts, were wrapped in the hides and lashed into four compact bundles by means of woollen ropes. With each Indian carrying a bundle on his back, supported by a band around his forehead, they started back across the puna, gathering up the string and sticks as they proceeded, and seemingly oblivious of their hundred-and-fifty- pound loads.
When they came to the precipitous descent leading down the mountain, the boys shuddered to think what a false step might mean, but the Indians went down at a dog-trot, laughing and chatting as gaily as if the thousand feet of almost perpendicular rock were merely a gentle slope.
Although Bob and Pancho resented the fact that a messenger had been sent to La Raya without their knowledge, the thought that their friends would soon learn of their safety relieved them a great deal. They ceased to bemoan the necessity of waiting until Tonak could make the journey to La Raya with them, and took great interest in their strange surroundings.
Bob was eager to see the interior of the old temple
Pancho had described, and by choosing a time when the men were busy in their fields and gardens, the two managed to reach the place unobserved. Why they assumed that the Indians would object to the visit, neither boy could have explained, yet they both felt that there was some mystery about the place and that their visit must be in secret, and they both felt excited and keyed up when at last they reached the temple and approached the entrance.
"Say," whispered Bob, "suppose some one's in there. What do you think they'd do if they caught us here?"
"I don't know," replied Pancho, also in a whisper. "I'd hate to be caught sneaking about in here—it's a sacred place to them, you know. I don't believe anyone is here now. Come on, let's go in."
On tiptoe they crept forward with fast-beating hearts, and reaching the low doorway with its inward-sloping sides, they peered inside.
"Look!" cried Pancho. "See that big plate on the wall? Isn't that gold?"
"Gosh!It does look like it," said Bob. "Let's go in and have a better look. The place is empty."
Emboldened by the fact that the temple was deserted, and with a final glance about to assure themselves no
Indians were in sight, the boys dodged inside the doorway, where they stood silent, awed, gazing about at the interior of the temple. The walls, of massive blocks of stone marvellously fitted together without mortar or cement, were stuccoed and covered with elaborate frescoes in bright colours showing innumerable figures of men, beasts, birds, plants, geometrical designs, and weird monsters. Many of these were meaningless to the boys, but others were so excellently done that they left no room for doubt.
"That chap seated on the throne looks just like Tonak himself," whispered Bob, pointing to a figure covering half of one wall.
"He certainly does," agreed Pancho, "only he's all dolled up with a crown and everything. Guess he's some old Inca. See how all the others are running towards him carrying presents? And look at that picture over there with all those Indians dancing. And every one is dressed like these Indians in the village. Didn't I say these people are living as they have for ages?"
"Of course the pictures show the same kind of clothes," said Bob. "They were painted by these people. I don't see how that proves anything."
“These people never painted them," retorted
Pancho. "I'll bet these pictures were made hundreds of years ago."
"Well, these rugs on the floor weren't," declared Bob. "And say, isn't that the skin of the jaguar you killed?"
Before them, beneath the great golden sun-disk, was an altar- like affair of dark red stone, and placed upon it was the jaguar skin that had attracted Bob's attention.
Glancing nervously about and moving silently, for the boys felt awed and fearful in the mysterious place, they stepped forward and examined the hide.
"No doubt of it," said Pancho. "It's got four bullet-holes through it and it's a fresh skin. What do you suppose it's doing here?"
"You know how that fellow begged the beast's forgiveness," Bob replied. "I expect they put the hide here to show the creature's spirit they respected it."
"Guess you're right," the other agreed. "Look, see the rainbow over there. It's made of metal, but isn't it natural?"
"Yes, but see here!" cried Bob, who had stepped behind the altar. "Here's a suit of old armour and a sword! Now where did they get those?"
Pancho shook his head. "Must have found them somewhere," he said. "Indians always keep anything that's strange. In Mexico they keep all the burned-out electric light bulbs and almost worship them. They— Holy cats! There's a mummy in it!"
Bob started and jumped back. "Let's get out of here!" he cried.
Pancho laughed. "He's been dead a long time," he said, "nothing much more than a skeleton—like those mummies from Incan graves we saw in the Lima museum. I'll bet he's some old Spaniard the Indians killed in the days of Pizarro. There's no need to be afraid of it."
"Who's afraid?" demanded Bob. "You just startled me for a minute. Hello! What are those things over there along that wall? They look like big rag dolls."
Pancho turned in the direction the other indicated. Resting in niches in the wall were half a dozen bulky, shapeless figures wrapped in bright-coloured cloth, decked with woven bags, ornaments, and feathers. Each was furnished with a crude, artificial head covered with a mask-like face of yellow metal surmounted by a gorgeous feather crown held in place by a gold fillet and topped by a golden ornament.
For an instant Pancho stared at the queer things. Then: "They are mummies!" he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, "and covered with gold and jewels! They—they must be mummies of kings—of Incas! Gosh! We'd better get out of here."
Bob had not waited for the other to finish. He was already half-way to the door, and the next moment both boys were in the open air.
"Now, who was afraid of mummies?" demanded Bob.
"You were," Pancho told him. "You turned and ran the minute I said they were mummies."
"I did not, I walked," Bob insisted. "It was you who ran after me."
"Well, why did you walk so fast?" persisted Pancho. "You didn't even wait for me to finish speaking."
"I heard what you said — that we'd better get out," declared Bob. "I'll bet you don't dare go back in there."
"I didn't mean we'd better clear out just because of those old mummies," Pancho explained. "But if it's the private burial-place of these Indians' kings, we've no right to be poking about in there. And I'm not afraid to go back. Mummies can't hurt anyone."
"I know that," said Bob. "All the same, it was kind of spooky with that skeleton in armour and all those dead Indians staring at us with their yellow faces."
"Gold!" Pancho corrected him. "Do you know, Bob, very nearly everything in there is gold. There must be a fortune in that temple. I'll bet that's the reason Tonak didn't tell us about sending a man to La Raya, and why he won't let us go back until he's quite ready."
"I don't see what that has to do with it," said Bob.
"Everything," declared the other. "If they had let us send a note we might have told our friends about the place and the gold, and then men would come here and rob the temple in no time. It's the same about going out. Tonak wants to make sure we couldn't find our way back. These Indians are wise birds. If they admitted they knew the way to La Raya they know we'd insist on going, and because they owe the chief's life to us they'd hate to be unfriendly and refuse. So the easiest way for them is to pretend they don't know the way. If they don't, how is that messenger going to get there?"
"Gosh! I never thought of that," Bob admitted. “And—and if they really are afraid that we'll tell about this place, then they'll never let us go."
"I don't know about that," said Pancho. "If they actually sent a man to La Raya they must expect to send us back some time. But just the same, I shouldn't blame them much if they did keep us here. If I were Tonak I'd never take the chance of having a lot of white men come in here and loot my temple and my ancestors' bodies."
"Perhaps he never sent the messenger," suggested Bob. "And why couldn't the men from La Raya follow him back here if he was sent?"
"He'd lose them easily enough if they tried that," Pancho declared. "I can understand now why Tonak was anxious to send word we were all right. He's afraid that if our people don't know, they'll hunt for us and might find this place. But if they know we're safe and sound, and the messenger tells them we'll be back soon, they'll stop searching."
"Yes, I can see that, too," said Bob. "But what I can't see is why the old chief should ever let us go. We might get a lot of men and come back and take away the gold for all he knows."
Pancho laughed. "Don't kid yourself he's such a fool," he said. "He'll probably blindfold us or something. But he can't keep us prisoners here after we saved his life. If you knew Indians, you'd realize that as long as they're in your debt, they're bound to treat you right."
"I wouldn't trust an Indian," declared Bob. "They're all treacherous and tricky, and they hate white people."
"Wild West stuff!" cried Pancho. "You've been reading cheap novels. A lot of Indians always have been friends of the whites, and have helped them fight other Indians. How about Uncus, for example? And in Mexico the babies' nurses are Indians, and the nicest, gentlest, most trustworthy people you ever saw. Besides, even the worst Indians have a sense of humour and remember a friend. Once Dad and some other men were captured by Yaquis—they're like the Apaches, you know—when the tribe was at war with Mexico and they were killing every white man they met. One of them recognized Dad as the man who had cured an Indian kid of a snake-bite, and just because of that the chief freed Dad and the others and guided them to the railway at risk of his life. If a Yaqui will do that, you can bet on Tonak doing as much for us."
"Maybe," assented Bob," but I won't bet on it, all the same."
"Let's forget about what's in the temple," suggested Pancho. "I wonder why white men always seem to think an Indian hasn't any right to his own gold and other valuables. I'll bet we wouldn't like it if some other race came along and helped themselves to everything we owned."
"I'll keep mum," said Bob, "that is, I may tell Dad, but I know he won't tell anyone else if I ask him not to. Come on, let's go down the valley and see if we can find some sort of game."
AS the Indians depended largely on vegetables for food, and secured what meat they required by drying the flesh of deer and vicuñas, the smaller game was seldom disturbed and afforded excellent sport. To be sure, the Indians trapped quail, partridges, and wild pigeons, as well as a variety of wild guinea-pig of which they were very fond. But as they did not possess firearms and their native weapons were not suited to bringing down game on the wing, the big pheasant-like perdiz, the wild ducks and geese, and the smaller mammals were all unsuspicious. Had the boys possessed a shot-gun they could readily have secured all the game they wished. Pancho's supply of ammunition was limited, however. He could not afford to risk wasting cartridges by firing at flying birds or running quadrupeds with the rifle, and even with game as abundant as it was it required no little skill and a great deal of patience to stalk it and bring it down with a rifle-bullet. On this occasion the boys had secured two big partridges, and were stealthily creeping towards a little pond where they had seen a flock of ducks alight, when a peculiar noise in a thicket of brush and small trees attracted their attention.
"What's that?" whispered Bob. "It sounded like a pig grunting."
"Perhaps there are wild pigs here," whispered Pancho. "Listen! There 'tis again."
Peculiar low grunting noises, and the sounds of a creature of some sort scratching or tearing at something, came from the miniature jungle.
"Sounds like something pretty big," said Bob. "Maybe it's another jaguar."
"Let's sneak over and see," suggested Pancho. "I wouldn't mind getting a jaguar's skin."
Silently the boys crept towards the spot from which the sounds continued to come. The brush was so dense that they could see nothing, and when they tried to force a way in they made considerable noise. But the animal, whatever it might be, seemed oblivious of their approach, for the grunts and ripping sounds continued. A moment later the boys were through the thick fringe of brush and were standing in an open wood. The sounds had now ceased, and the two peered about, searching for the creature they had heard. For a moment or two they saw nothing. Suddenly Bob gave an involuntary exclamation. "Look! What in the world is it?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
Pancho saw it at the same instant. "Gosh! I don't know!" he replied.
Staring at them from behind a tree trunk was a terrifying face. Semi-human it seemed, with small, wicked eyes surrounded by light-coloured circles that looked as if they had been painted upon the dark brown features.
Into the boys' minds flashed visions of savage Indians, of gorillas, of unknown gigantic ape-like beings. They had expected to see some large animal—perhaps a wild pig, a deer, or even a puma or a jaguar. Instead they had come face to face with this monster, this being with its demoniacal face, with its body concealed by the tree. No wonder they were frightened; the weird apparition was enough to scare anyone. It was unlike anything they had ever seen, unlike anything they had ever seen pictured—a truly appalling, diabolical thing. Nameless—almost superstitious—terror gripped them. The monster was so uncanny—gazing fixedly at them, motionless, silent, the red-rimmed wicked eyes unblinking in their stare. And they felt as if hypnotized by the face that appeared more like some horribly grotesque mask than a part of any living animal. Pancho even forgot that he held a rifle in his hands, and that the beast, or monster or whatever it might be, was within easy range, scarcely fifty feet distant, a target he could not miss. Then as realization came back to him, he cocked the weapon and started to raise it to his shoulder.
The click of the lock broke the spell. With a horrid growl the thing fairly hurled itself at the boys. They had a brief glimpse of a huge, black, shaggy body, of long sinewy arms as the creature, rearing itself on its hind legs, and looking more gorilla-like than ever, rushed at them. Then came a flash, a roar as Pancho's shaking finger pressed the trigger, and at the report the monster plunged forward and rolled over almost at the boys' feet.
They leaped back, staring at the great beast which the chance shot had killed. Then cautiously, with steady rifle, Pancho took a step nearer. The relaxed limbs were motionless, there was no sign of life, and confident that the monster was actually dead, the boys approached more closely.
"Gosh!" cried Bob. "It's a bear!"
"Bear?" reiterated Pancho. "I never heard of a bear with a face like that. Just the same," he added as he stooped and examined the beast, "I guess 'tis a bear. But what a monster!"
"I'll say it's a monster," agreed Bob. "I didn't know they had bears here. Say, maybe I wasn't scared stiff when I saw that fellow's face looking at us."
"No more scared than I was," admitted Pancho, "and it was just by luck that I hit him. I wasn't aiming at him, and I didn't even know I fired."
"Luck all right," said Bob. "He'd have been on us in a second more. Whew! Look at those claws. There wouldn't have been much left of us if he had got within reach."
"We'd have been mincemeat all right," agreed Pancho. "Now we've killed him, what are we going to do with him? He must weigh hundreds of pounds, and we can't carry him. We haven't anything but pocket-knives and we could never skin him with those. And if we leave him here and go to the village to get the boys to help us, the buzzards will get him."
"I don't see anything else to do, though," declared Bob. "Perhaps if we cover him up with branches the vultures won't find him before we get back."
As there appeared to be no other solution to the problem, they gathered leaves and branches and spread them over the carcass of the beast which, they learned later, was one of those rare, spectacled bears that inhabit portions of the trans-Andean regions and are only equalled by the grizzly for ferocity.
Hurrying back to the village, they told the Indians of their kill, although unable to describe the creature so as to make the Indians understand what it was. However, they realized that the boys had slain some big beast, and Kespi and several others accompanied the boys to the spot. As they pulled aside the covering of leaves and revealed what lay beneath, the Indians commenced to yell with delight, prancing and laughing.
"Ukumari!" they shouted. "Ukumari! (great bear) kamkuna kashkankechic pinyakuk! Huanyusfika na nyukanchik kushinchik (You were brave, but now we rejoice that you are dead)." Then, dancing about, they broke into a triumphant chant: "At the hands of our white brothers you fell!" they sang. "At the voice of the rod that speaks with fire your life fled. Though we may not destroy you, our white brothers fear not the demon within you. Now do we laugh at you. We will feast on your meat, and your head shall hang in our temple, and your teeth and claws shall be hung about the necks of the brave ones who slew you. Great is our rejoicing."
"Now what's all that about?" exclaimed Bob, as, unable to grasp the meaning of the words, they watched the Indians dancing about the dead bear and chanting their Quichua song.
Pancho shook his head. "You'll have to ask them," he replied. "They're the only ones who know. I guess they're celebrating because the beast's dead. But I can't understand why they're so pleased over a dead bear when they weren't at all pleased by a dead jaguar."
"They're a queer bunch," declared Bob. "When we killed the jaguar and saved their chief's life they begged the beast's forgiveness. But now you've killed a bear they dance about and shout like wild Indians."
Pancho chuckled. "Why shouldn't they?" he asked. "That's what they are—wild Indians."
Presently the Indians ceased their impromptu celebration, and cutting stout poles, lashed the bear's feet to them. Then they placed their shoulders under the poles, straightened up with grunts, and lifting the carcass clear of the ground, staggered along towards the village.
As they toiled along, the boys plied Kespi with questions. Were these beasts common? Were they always savage? Was this an unusually big fellow? Why did he and the others dance and sing about the creature?
Kespi told them that ukumari seldom came so far into the mountains, that he was "the father of all bears," that he was always dangerous. This, he declared, was because of a terrible demon who dwelt within the bear's body. The Indians, he explained, were forbidden to kill the bears, because whoever destroyed one would at once be possessed with the demon, and ever after would live apart, attacking all whom he met.
"But we killed the bear," objected Bob, "or rather Pancho did, and no devils have taken possession of him."
This argument did not worry the Indian in the least. He explained that the demons would be powerless against white men who believed in a strange God and were not afraid of spirits. And how, he asked, could a Quichua devil survive in the body of one who was not a Quichua and did not even speak the language naturally?
Pancho grinned. "Lucky we haven't learned the language properly," he said to Bob. "If we had, the devil might have got into us by mistake."
"One advantage in not being an Indian," Bob said. "But I don't blame them for believing a devil lived in that beast—he certainly looked like one when he stuck his head from behind that tree."
"And he acted like one when he started for us," added Pancho.
The Open Road for Boys, January 1932, with
third part of "The Incas' Treasure House"
BOB STILLWELL and Pancho McLean become lost in the Andes on their way to La Raya, a mining camp in Peru where Bob's father is manager. Luckily they save the life of an Indian chief, disabled by a jaguar. Because of this they are well treated by the Indians of the chief's village, but the chief declines to send them to La Raya until he has recovered. He dispatches a messenger, however, to report the boys' safety. The boys find these Indians different from all others and they conclude that they are a lost tribe, living as did the Indians under the Incas before the time of Pizarro. They discover a temple with amazing golden ornaments and relics of the Spanish conquest.
At La Raya, Mr. Stillwell has left on a prospecting expedition without knowing that the boys are lost, but when they fail to arrive Mr. Griswold, the chief of operations, is worried. A search fails, and a talk with an old-time prospector, Carmody, throws no light on the boys' whereabouts.
ALTHOUGH La Raya was called a "camp," it was really a sizable town. Far up on the mountain sides, colored a vivid rose, with splashes of vermilion and orange from the lead and silver oxides, were the tunnels and shafts of the workings. Along the east bank of a river near-by stood the mills and refineries, while on the western shore squatted the long, low quarters of the native Indian and Cholo laborers. In a level space where the valley widened, was the town itself. La Raya, originally an almost unknown Indian village, had become an obscure Peruvian town, dirty, poverty-stricken, despite the fact that untold fortunes were hidden in the mountain overhanging its red-tiled roofs. Then the Americans had acquired the mines, and had cleaned, rebuilt and modernized the place. A neat, green little plaza faced the cabildo, or city hall, presided over by the fat, fiercely-moustached but good-natured Alcade, Don Diogenes Beltran, who represented the Peruvian government but who never had anything to do except to gossip with Padre Augustin, doze in the sun, or play cards with Lieutenant Navez. The lieutenant, a boyish, smiling youth with a budding moustache and a sword almost as long as himself, represented the Peruvian army. He had six brown-faced little soldiers and four policemen in khaki and scarlet uniforms to aid him in maintaining order in this spot where disorders were almost unknown.
In the old town dwelt the Peruvian employees of the company, the few Peruvian officials and their families, and some of the American and British employees. But the majority of the Anglo- Saxons lived in attractive bungalows on a little rise beyond the town.
Such was the "camp" to which the missing boys had been invited, a community of more than five hundred inhabitants, including the Indians and Cholos. The natives came and went as they pleased, on foot, on burros, or driving strings of donkeys or llamas in from the hills; sometimes to seek work, sometimes to visit friends, but more often bringing fruits, vegetables or native handiwork to the La Raya market. No one paid any heed to these brown-skinned, sturdy, poncho-clad natives of the mountains who seldom ventured in the American section, but strolled through the streets of the lower town or gravitated naturally to the Indians' barracks across the river.
So, when, on the day old Carmody had talked with Mr. Griswold, a strange Indian drifted into La Raya, none of the Americans or Peruvians noticed him; but the other Indians he met looked at him curiously. Those whom he passed raised their hands to their foreheads in salute, and the market place and barracks were soon buzzing with speculation as word of the strange Indian's arrival spread.
Taller by a head than the brown-skinned employees of the mines, erect, with a keen, hawk-like face and pale ochre-colored skin he was obviously of a distinct and superior race. And his costume—though to the unobservant eyes of the white men it seemed merely a variation of the inevitable poncho and loose trousers—instantly identified him to the Indian denizens of La Raya.
FOR a time, the stranger wandered about, gazing into shop windows and staring at the two ramshackle cars the place boasted. Then he made his way toward the American camp. Carmody was talking with the superintendent when one of the assistants entered the office.
"There's an Indian outside who insists on seeing you, sir," he informed the superintendent. "He doesn't speak more than a few words of Spanish and I'm not much on Quichua. He won't tell me what he wants, but he said to give you these."
As he spoke, Johnson placed four empty rifle cartridges on the desk. The superintendent stared at them, a puzzled frown on his face, but Carmody sprang forward, seized one of the shells, and examined it intently.
"By gum an' Godfrey, bring him in!" he cried excitedly. "These here ca't'idges is from them missin' boys' rifle! I'll bet my boots this Injun's got a message from em."
"Good Heavens!" exclaimed the superintendent. "Maybe you're right. Perhaps —" His words were interrupted by the reappearance of Johnson followed by the stranger, with Chico, one of the company's natives, to serve as interpreter.
As the Indian entered, Carmody uttered a sharp ejaculation, and gazed at the fellow with a strange expression of amazement and perplexity.
"By Jupiter's black pocket!" he exclaimed. "Now where the everlastin' blazes did that there bird come from?"
"What's the matter with him?" demanded the superintendent. "He looks just like any cacique to me."
Carmody snorted. "Why, he's a everlastin' ap-ap'rition, that's what he is. There ain't nothin' like him been seen knockin' 'bout these here diggin's since old man Pizarro killed the Inca. He's a reg'-lar chasqui, that's what he is. He—"
"Chasqui?" enquired the superintendent, whose knowledge of Peruvian history was limited to the country's mining industries. "What's that?"
"Lor' bless your dumbness!" replied the old prospector. "A chasqui was a runner what them ol' Incas used for to send messages. But shucks! there ain't no Incas an' no chasquis nor nothin' o' the sort left, less'n—Here we be, wastin' time chinnin' 'stead of finding out what this bird's got to say 'bout them two boys."
Turning to the Indian, Carmody spoke to him in Quichua, telling him the man at the desk was the "chief" of the place, and asking him what he wanted to tell him.
At the fellow's reply, Carmody started. "By gum, he ain't speakin' no Quichua like I ever heard afore," he muttered under his breath. Then, turning to the superintendent: "He says them two boys is O.K. up to his village. I don't savvy every word what he says, 'cause he's chinnin' some dialec' what I ain't never heard afore, but I get the meanin' right enough. And he says somethin' 'bout them boys havin' killed the 'spotted one'—meanin' of a jag'ar, I 'spect, an' a-savin' of his curaca's life— ain't been no such thing as a curaca for nobody knows how long—an' how, soon's ever the ol' chief's able to git about on his pins, he'll be bringin' the boys down his-self. Them there ca'ti'ges he brung in is to show you he's on the level."
"Where's the village? Why didn't the boys send a message?" snapped the superintendent. "How do I know he didn't pick those shells up somewhere and cook up the whole yarn? Sounds fishy to me, Carmody."
The old prospector shook his head. "Seems likely enough to me," he declared. "Derned sight likelier than to be here chinnin' with a Injun what might have come to life outen one o' them there old graves."
Turning to the silent, impassive Indian he again questioned him. "Nothin doin'," he announced presently. "Says his village is way back in the hills; Chaca-Lyacta, he calls it, meanin' 'Place of the Bridge,' but shuts up tighter'n a sardine tin soon's ever I ask him anythin' 'bout it."
"Tell him we'll send men back with him when he goes—you can go along to interpret, can't you, Carmody? No sense in those two boys waiting for some fool Indian to get well. Tell him we'll leave first thing tomorrow morning, and meantime he can bunk with Chico and Manuel."
Carmody grinned and chuckled. "Lor' bless your soul, boss!" he cried, "I don't know how to figger it out, but howsom-ever 'tis, he's a king's messenger. You might just as well ask the British Minister over to Lima to bunk in with Chico an' Manuel. An' nothin'd ever get them two Injuns to dare act like they was his eq'als neither. They'll clear out an' let his nibs have their quarters to hisself. But I shouldn't be a mite s'prised if he'd enjoy seein' of a movie. Reckon Chico wouldn't mind takin' him to one."
When asked, Chico seemed highly honored at the opportunity, and trotted off at the strange Indian's side.
"Now I'm a-goin' to hunt up Griswold and tell him the news," the old prospector announced. "He'll be glad to know them there boys is safe an' sound."
"THANK Heaven!" Mr. Griswold exclaimed when the old prospector had related all that had occurred. "I'm going along with the others, Carmody. I'll leave a note here for Mr. Stillwell before I go. Thought you said there were no Indians in that district!"
The old prospector's eyes half closed and his face set in a new expression. "I did, Mr. Griswold," he admitted. "But I was meanin' these here ord'nary Injuns. Ain't I been tellin' you this chap's different? Now, like as not you'll be laffin' at me, but I'll tell you somethin', sir, that I ain't breathed to no other livin' soul. Member what I tol' you 'bout the natives back in the ol' times knockin' down a bridge to keep the Dons from a-gettin' through by the Inca road, an' a-ambushin' of 'em arter-wards? Now I 'aint never had no such faith in findin' that there Inca treasure as mos' folks think, but there's that story 'bout them Inca folk an' the bridge. Why'd they knock it down, I'm askin'. Why didn't that bunch of Injuns do jus' like all the others did—clear out, or else treat the Dons friendly-like?
"Now then, by gum an' Godfrey, this is how I figger it out. The treasure was hid up there, an' the Injuns tore down the bridge to keep them Dons from findin' of it. Then, arter the Spaniards had gone, they come back and went on livin' there jus' the way they allus done afore a Spaniard stuck his long nose into the Inca pie. An ' by crickety chop-sticks, I'll bet this here chasqui's one o' them guys. Didn't he say his village was called the 'Place of the Bridge'?"
"But my dear man!" exclaimed Mr. Griswold, trying hard not to smile at the old fellow's earnestness, "if by chance the boys had stumbled on such a hidden treasure-house and lost city they would have been done away with. The Indians never would permit them to live and still less return to civilization."
Carmody nodded and stroked his scraggly gray beard reflectively. "I've thought of all them things," he declared. "Like as not the boys would have been put out o' the way 'ceptin' for the fact they done the Injuns a good turn— killed a jaguar what was maulin' of the ol' chief, you know. No Injun'd ever harm anyone who done a thing like that. No, sir, they'd be treated like frien's and r'yalty, by Jiminy. Only thing bothers me is, why in thunder that chasqui will take us back! That's beyond me."
NEXT morning, Mr. Griswold was up early. He was lacing one of his high boots when Carmody burst into the room without the formality of knocking.
"Great jumpin' Jemima!" he exploded. "He's gone! Vamoosed! Cleared out! By gum and Godfrey, he's given us the slip! That Injun chasqui, I mean."
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Griswold, "you mean the fellow has left?"
The old man flung himself into a chair. "Yep!" he replied. "I knowed there was somethin' funny 'bout him bein' willin' to guide us back there. He didn't never mean for to do it. An', by Jupiter, I'm dead certain now I figgered out things kerect."
"Can't—don't the other Indians know where he went?" asked Mr. Griswold.
Carmody laughed hoarsely. "Lor' bless you, they know more or less," he cried. "But they'd never tell. No, sir, we just got to set here an' wait for them there boys to turn up. Yes, by cricky, he's gone, an' less'n I'm plumb lucky I ain't never goin' to set eyes onto that there Place of the Bridge an' know whether them strange Injuns have got that treasure or not."
"Perhaps," suggested Mr. Griswold, "the boys will be able to tell you all about it."
IN the lost Inca village, Bob and Pancho found that the days and weeks passed quickly. Almost before they realized how time had flown, Tonak was up and about, apparently as well as ever except for his wrist, which was twisted and partly useless. At last the boys asked him how soon he could guide them back to La Raya. The chief shook his head sadly. For a moment he sat gazing into space and the boys began to fear he was about to tell them he had no intention of ever letting them go. Then, rising, he placed his hands on their heads. "My sons and brothers must leave us," he said. "I and my people will grieve that it is so. But it is the call of nature. Each creature must go with its kind and so must each tribe of men. Does the Chuncho of the jungles dwell with the Collas on the mountains? Does the Huanca find happiness in the villages of the Panos? No. When the great Pachakamak made all things on earth and breathed life into them he ordered that each living thing should ever seek those of its own kind. Though we of Chaca-Lyacta love you as our own, it is best that you should go to your people. I and my people owe you what we cannot repay. But my sons' race loves riches and riches will be given you. Tomorrow I, Tonak of the house of Yupanqui Inca, will lead you forth to your friends and to you will give that which will make you mighty chiefs. Now, my sons, I go to prepare for the journey."
Much that the chief said had been in his own dialect, and his broken Spanish was difficult for the boys to understand, but they caught the meaning of his words.
"Whoopee! Tomorrow we'll scram!" cried Bob.
"Didn't I say he was a real Inca?" exclaimed Pancho triumphantly.
"How do you know he is?" demanded Bob. "He didn't say so."
"Didn't he?" retorted Pancho. "Didn't he say he was Tonak of the house of Yupanqui Inca? Let's see—" Pancho was silent for a moment counting on his fingers—"I think Yupanqui was the father of Huayna Kapak who was the father of Atahualpa. Gosh, Bob, this fellow must be a direct descendent! Say perhaps he's going to make us a present of some of those things in the temple!"
"I hope he doesn't give us one of those old mummies or that dead man in the armor," interrupted Bob. "And I don't see how anything he's got will make us chiefs, as he calls it, at home."
THE boys found Tonak waiting for them when they appeared the following morning. He was dressed like the other Indians, wearing nothing to denote his rank, and was leaning on a heavy staff of polished hardwood with an elaborately wrought silver head and decorated with silver bands. With him were Kespi and Kenko, each carrying a pack supported by brow-bands, while gathered in a circle were the villagers, all waiting to bid the white boys farewell.
One by one they approached, lifted Bob's and Pancho's hands to their foreheads and solemnly repeated the words: "Ayhualya Huauki Nyukapak Inti Huakaychar." (Farewell, my brother, may God guard you.)
When the last good-bye had been said, with Tonak leading the way the little party descended into the ravine and clambered up the further side while the entire population of the village chanted in unison the farewell song of the Incan people.
"Ayhualya! Ayhualya!—Inti guard thy weary journey Over deserts, over mountains— All our prayers and thoughts are of thee. Ayhualya! Ayhualya!—Inti guard thee on thy journey. All we live for, all we wait for— Is for thee to come again— Ayhualya! Ayhualya!"
In a plaintive wail the cadence ended, and though the boys could understand only a few of the words of the ancient song, they were far more deeply touched than they would have liked to admit. Presently they reached the summit of the hill, and glancing back for a last view of the village, saw the people still gathered at the brink of the ravine, waving a last farewell.
Along an almost undistinguishable trail they plodded on, Tonak always in the lead, turning and twisting, doubling back and forth, ascending hills, slipping and sliding into ravines, traversing cañons, at times following the beds of streams. Four hours after leaving the village, Tonak came to a halt in a deep cañon which had become narrower and narrower, until now it ended in a blind wall. From the base of the seeming cul-de-sac rose a conical hill, towering for nearly a hundred feet above the summits of the banks.
"Behold, my sons!" exclaimed Tonak. "Did I not promise to lead you to the place of riches? You alone of all save the people of Chaca-Lyacta may look upon the treasure house of the Incas!"
The boys gasped. They could scarcely believe their ears. Treasure house of the Incas! They had heard of the fabulous hoard of gold and gems that, according to legend, had been gathered for the ransom of the captive Inca, Atahualpa, but which had been buried somewhere in Peru when the carriers learned of their ruler's death at Pizarro's hands. Neither of the boys had ever given the story a second thought, yet here was Tonak—who claimed to be a descendent of the Incas—telling them that they were looking on the Incan treasure house. But they could see nothing that appeared in the least like a ruin, a building, or even a cave. Wondering, they gazed about while Tonak and the other Indians grinned.
"I don't see—" began Bob.
Pancho gripped his arm. "Look!" he exclaimed. "Look at that hill, Bob! It's not a real hill, it's built of stones! It's a—a pyramid! That must be the treasure house!"
Bob whistled. "But there isn't a door or a window or anything in it. And—"
Tonak again spoke. "To none but he who rules in Chaca-Lyacta and those of the village is the treasure known," he said. "Through four times four hundred hundred suns have we watched over it that, if need should come, we might buy the freedom of our people. But now the time has passed. Never again will an Inca sit upon the golden throne of Cuzco and rule over the kingdom of Tihuantisuyo (the Incan name of the empire meaning The Four Corners of the Earth). We are few and scattered, and aside from us of Chaca-Lyacta all are but vassals of the sons of the Bearded Ones who conquered our land and destroyed our Inca. Some time will come the Spaniards and force the secret of the treasure; but to you, my sons, we give gladly. From what lies within the secret portals take what you desire as a parting gift from Tonak and his people."
The boys were speechless. Were they actually about to gaze upon that mythical, fabulous treasure? No, that was too fantastic to be true. And yet—
TONAK had turned and was moving forward towards the blank wall at the head of the ravine. There Kespi and Kenko dropped their burdens and at Tonak's direction began tossing the stones to one side while the two boys watched fascinated. Presently a rectangular, sculptured stone was revealed. Then, as the last of the rocks were removed, Tonak placed his staff in the mouth of a carved jaguar and leaned hard against it while the two Indian youths put their shoulders to the stone. It swung aside slowly, silently, revealing a low, dark doorway.
From their packs Kespi and Kenko produced torches. With flint and steel they were lit, and, taking one, Tonak bent and entered the portal, beckoning the boys to follow. For perhaps fifty feet they passed along a narrow stone corridor barely three feet in width and five feet in height. Then they descended a short flight of stone steps, entered a large circular room, crossed this past an immense stone statue of a jaguar-headed god, entered another low, narrow passage, and, traversing this for another fifty feet, came to a smaller square court in the centre of which was a stone image of the sun god.
Bowing before this, Tonak and the two Indians ascended the low pyramidal dais on which the statue stood, and tugged with all their strength at a projecting stone ornament. Slowly the monolith moved to one side, disclosing a dark opening. Excited, with fast beating hearts, the two boys followed the Indians into the aperture. Descending a flight of stone steps they entered a narrow corridor, passed along it, turned right and then left into other passageways, ascended more stairs and entered a large room. As the Indians halted and held high their flaring torches the boys gasped, staring speechlessly, incredulously, at what they saw.
Piled in the corners and about the walls of the stone chamber were great heaps of glittering yellow gold! Bars and ingots, hammered breastplates and great wheel-like suns; stacks of thin gold sheets; ceremonial axes and maces; spears and sceptres; massive chains and crowns; ornaments of every form; vases and lamps; dishes and utensils were everywhere.
In one spot, piled almost to the ceiling, were cloth bags and rawhide sacks, some of which had burst. From the rents, streams of yellow gold dust had trickled to the floor. There seemed to be tons of the precious metal, and the boys scarcely noticed the great stacks of silver bars, the silver vases and utensils and weapons that lay on every side.
Heaps of glittering yellow gold!
"Do—do you suppose all that really is gold?" whispered Bob in awed tones.
"It must be," replied Pancho. "But I never thought there was so much in the whole world."
Tonak's voice interrupted their thoughts. "It is yours, my sons," he announced. "Take what you desire. Did I not say that my white sons would be great chiefs amid their own people?"
"Great millionaires!" exclaimed Pancho. "Whew, there must be more treasure here than in the Treasury at Washington. It—"
"And he says we can have all we want!" cried Bob, gazing about at the vast store of riches. "But that's just a joke. How could we carry off all we wanted? It must weigh tons."
Apparently the old chief read their thoughts. "Two times ten hundred yana-conas (cargo carriers) and two score trains of llamas groaned beneath the treasure that you gaze upon," he told them. "We are but five, and we have far to go and gold is heavy. Yet my sons have not seen all. Behold! This treasure may you take more easily."
As he spoke Tonak stepped to a carved chest hasped and bound with massive silver, and lifted the lid. The boys leaned forward with sharp exclamations of amazement.
The Open Road for Boys, February 1932, with
fourth part of "The Incas' Treasure House"
BOB STILLWELL and Pancho McLean become lost in the Andes on their way to La Raya, a mining camp in Peru where Bob's father is manager. While lost they save the life of an Indian chief, disabled by a jaguar. Because of this they are well treated by the Indians of the chief's village. The boys find these Indians different from all others and they conclude that they are a lost tribe, living as did the Indians under the Incas before the time of Pizarro. They discover a temple with amazing golden ornaments and relics of the Spanish conquest.
Having recovered, Tonak starts with the boys and two young Indians, Kespi and Kenko, for La Raya, but first, because Bob and Pancho saved his life, Tonak shows them a fabulous treasure which the ancestors of his people kept from Pizarro's clutches, and tells them that they may take with them as much of it as they can carry.
GLEAMING, flashing in the glare of the torches were jewels of every hue. Bob and Pancho found themselves almost blinded by the brilliancy of the precious stones. Like living fire they scintillated and sparkled—blue, green, purple, lavender, crimson and dazzling white. Never, the boys thought, had white men looked upon such a vast treasure. Here, as Tonak had said, was wealth which they could carry—riches in condensed form—and though ignorant of the value of jewels, they realized that a pocketful would be worth hundreds of pounds of the yellow gold.
They plunged their hands into the chest, lifted the emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds, topazes, amethysts and countless semi-precious stones and let them trickle in showers of flame between their fingers. Could it be possible the glorious things were real, that they were seeing, handling such gems as neither they nor anyone else had believed existed: limpid green emeralds as large as pigeons' eggs, blood-red rubies the size of marbles, ropes of iridescent pearls from Lake Titicaca, topazes carved to represent the sun, fire-flashing diamonds set in beautifully wrought ornaments of gold; golden and silver flowers with petals of gems, golden insects with jeweled eyes and wings, golden ears of maize with kernels of pearls and husks of silver, the finest examples of Incan and pre-Incan art, the work of the incredibly skillful goldsmiths and lapidaries of the vast ancient Incan empire!
The Indians stood silent, motionless, watching the boys and waiting for them to help themselves to the vast treasure.
"My heavens!" sighed Bob. "I can't believe I'm not dreaming. There must be millions and millions of dollars' worth of jewels here."
"Fortunes!" agreed Pancho. "When are we going to wake up?"
"Better fill our pockets before we do," said Bob.
"I'm going to take these that are set in gold," declared Pancho. "And one of these gold ears of corn." He turned to Tonak. "Do you really mean that we are to have all we can carry?" he asked. "We have done nothing to deserve so generous a reward and this gold and these jewels must be very precious to you."
Tonak nodded and spread his hands in a wide gesture that seemed to sweep over the entire contents of the room.
"All you wish of the treasure is yours," he said, "nor do we feel that we give too much. The fearlessness with which you saved my life and the friendliness with which you have lived among my people make us most willing that you should choose and take all that you can carry. There will indeed be ample left, for we five can take away from the entire treasure only as little as five ants could carry at one time from an anthill. Yes, my sons, it is yours."
Again and again Bob and Pancho expressed their thanks to the Chief and for some time examined the jewels and with many exclamations of wonder and astonishment laid aside those which most appealed to them. Taking Tonak at his word, they also handed over to the Indians all which they could carry. At last their task was done, and with a final long look at the astounding heap of treasure which remained, they turned toward the doorway, and with Tonak in the lead, again traversed the various passages and at last stepped out into the sunlight. It seemed strange enough to come back to their own world after having lived for a few moments in an era that had ended centuries before. Carefully the Indians replaced the stones and then with scarcely a backward glance set off down the trail.
"I wonder," said Bob, "if we shall ever come back for any more of this treasure. There is no doubt in my mind but that Tonak would be more than glad to let us come again."
"I don't know about that," said Pancho. "He isn't going to take any chances of having the location of this wealth discovered. These Indians must have guarded it most carefully or some inkling of its whereabouts would have leaked out during the last few hundred years. He has paid his debt to us, but of course he doesn't want the hoard plundered, and if I am not mistaken, would never again be willing to bring us here."
"You may be right," said Bob, "and anyway, I wouldn't want to come back for any of the treasure without his permission; but all the same, it will do no harm if we try our best to remember how to reach this place. I'm going to watch for landmarks carefully and note them down so that I won't forget them."
"That's all right with me," assented Pancho. "I'll do that too, but I don't believe we have a chance in the world of ever being able to return to this spot. These Indians will see to it that they leave too confused a trail."
So, concentrating their minds on the character of the surrounding hills and valleys, the boys followed silently in Tonak's footsteps, wondering how long it would be before they would reach La Raya.
DAY after day they plodded steadily on, sometimes following narrow paths, at other times proceeding where no trail was visible; turning now east, now north, now west, now south, until the two boys were hopelessly confused and had not the most remote idea of the general direction in which they had traveled.
"It's lucky Tonak knows the way," panted Bob as they climbed a long slope. "Sometimes I wonder if he really does or is just going round and round, as much lost as we were on the other side of the mountains. If he does know where he's headed for, how on earth does he find his way?"
"I guess it's instinct," replied Pancho. "Same way pigeons and toads and other things find their way home. He knows where he's going all right."
Though the journey was long and the boys desperately footsore and weary, they at least did not suffer for want of water or food. The Indians carried a good supply of parched corn, barley meal, dried beans and jerked meat; the country through which they passed, though often barren, was cut by many small streams; and while game was scarce, still hardly a day passed that Pancho did not shoot something. At night the boys threw themselves down utterly tired out, but the Indians made nothing of it. Even burdened with their loads of over one hundred pounds each, Kespi and his brother seemed never to tire, and Tonak, who had so recently recovered from injuries that would have left a white man a semi-invalid, kept up his same swinging pace for hours on end with never a sign of weariness.
Frequently Bob or Pancho asked the chief how much farther they would have to go or how many more days it would be before they arrived at La Raya—and he invariably replied in some unintelligible metaphor or declared he could not say, as it all depended on how fast they traveled.
By the end of a week the trip seemed like an endless nightmare. It did not appear possible that they could have walked steadily for seven days without seeing a single human being, a house or a village. To be sure they had passed within sight of several ruins of ancient buildings, but the entire country seemed devoid of human life, a wilderness of hills and valleys, of dark cañons, of broad punas and grassy upland plains, of tumbling mountain streams, gleaming silvery lakes and distant phantom-like mountains.
They camped wherever the end of the day found them—sometimes in the shelter of a pile of rocks, sometimes in a cavern in the hills, sometimes in hastily constructed huts beside streams or ponds. One morning they came to a large lake that barred their progress and the boys groaned as they thought of being forced to tramp the long way around it. Then to their surprise the Indians threw down their loads and, wading knee-deep into the water, commenced gathering great bundles of the tall, inch-thick reeds that grew everywhere in the shallows. These they placed in bundles on the ground and lashed them together with withes and roots.
Kespi grinned when the boys questioned him and informed them he and the others were making a balsa.
"We know just about as much—or as little—as before," complained Bob. "What's a balsa, anyhow?"
"Looks as if they were making some kind of boat!" Pancho said.
IT was soon evident that a boat was precisely what the Indians were making, for they worked rapidly, tying bundles of reeds together, lashing these bundles into place, and forming a canoe- shaped affair some twenty feet in length by six feet in width. Within three hours from the time they had begun work the strange craft was completed, and as the astonished boys looked on, two of the Indians lifted the little vessel to their shoulders, carried it to the shore of the lake and placed it on the water.
"Well I never saw anything like that!" cried Bob. "Come on, let's see if it'll hold us!"
The balsa seemed scarcely affected by their weight and was so buoyant, dry and steady that the boys shouted with delight. The Indians seemed vastly amused at all this enthusiasm. To them the balsa was nothing extraordinary, for similar boats had been used by Peruvian Indians for thousands of years. Having loaded the supplies and armed themselves with poles cut from a hillside thicket of poplars, they clambered aboard and pushed off.
"This is something like!" declared Pancho, as the buoyant craft moved toward the center of the lake. "Wish we could travel this way all the time!"
"You bet!" agreed Bob heartily. "But look there! Ever see so many ducks and geese and—say, what are those two big white ones with the black necks? Try a shot. They ought to be fine eating."
As Pancho threw a shell into the chamber of his rifle the Indians grasped his intention and slowly guided the balsa toward the unsuspecting waterfowl. Not until he was within easy range did Pancho risk a shot. Then he brought down one of the big black-necked swans. As the flock of birds rose with a terrified squawking and a roar of beating wings, he fired twice more and three ducks fell splashing to the water.
"Great!" cried Bob. "That was swell shooting—three ducks in two shots and on the wing!"
Pancho grinned. "Swell nothing," he declared. "I couldn't help hitting them, they were so close together. But— Well, what do you think of that?" Kespi, not to be outdone by the white boy, had jerked a woven woolen sling from his girdle, had hastily fitted a round stone from a wallet at his side, and whirling it about his head had sent the stone whizzing after the birds. As Pancho spoke, one of the flock plunged headlong to the water.
"Guess you aren't such a crack shot after all," laughed Bob, as he saw Pancho staring in surprise. "If an Indian can knock one of those fellows over with a stone from a sling you ought to get three of them with two rifle bullets."
Gathering up their game, the party continued on their way, following the winding sheet of water for mile after mile between the hills. Not until they had reached the head of the lake did the Indians pole the balsa into shoal water and draw it up on the shore.
They dined royally that night on roast duck, and afterwards the boys slept like logs. It was broad daylight when Pancho awoke. Rubbing his eyes he sat up, glanced about to see if the Indians were cooking breakfast, and then suddenly wide awake, he leaped to his feet shouting excitedly to Bob.
The Indians were nowhere in sight!
"Wha-what's the matter?" asked Bob sleepily, yawning as he sat up. "Why all the shouting?"
"The Indians!" cried Pancho. "Tonak, Kespi, Kenko—they're not here!"
"What?" exclaimed Bob getting to his feet and staring about, blinking in the bright light. "Not here? Well, what of it? Most likely they've gone for a swim."
"I hadn't thought of that," Pancho admitted. As he spoke he hurried toward the spot where they had beached the balsa. Neither the Indians nor the craft were anywhere to be seen.
"They're not at the lake!" cried Pancho. "And the boat's gone too!"
"Well, they've left everything behind them—if they really have gone," Bob informed him. "The gold and jewels they were carrying are here. I guess they're somewhere near. Why should they run off, anyway? You don't think they'd desert us, do you?"
"I can't believe they would," declared Pancho. "But just the same, it's mighty queer—the way they've gone off without saying anything, and they've taken the boat. I admit I'm scared. We can never find our way alone!"
"If they've taken the boat," Bob said, "that explains it. They've gone fishing."
"I'll soon find out," declared Pancho. "I can see all around from the top of that hill."
Without waiting for Bob, he hurried off toward the crest. As he reached the summit and glanced about, he stood staring, open- mouthed, incredulous. Within a quarter mile of where he stood, a stream flowed around the base of the hill, its banks fringed with aspens. And there, in plain sight beneath the trees, were tents, tethered horses and mules, men! For a brief moment Pancho gazed at the seeming apparition, too amazed to utter a sound. Then he let out a yell like a Comanche. “Whoop-eee! White men, Bob! Come on!"
Bob gave one glance at the camp among the aspens, and with a yell that outdid Pancho's, dashed after his comrade.
At sound of the wild shouts, the men camped beside the stream turned with one accord and reached for their weapons. They had thought there were no human beings except themselves within a hundred miles. Who could these two be?
"Hey, who in time are you?" demanded a tall, rawboned fellow. "What's chasin' you?"
Before Pancho or Bob could gasp out an explanation, a man emerged from the door of a tent nearby. "What's up, Haskins?" he asked. Bob wheeled at the sound of the voice. His eyes grew round, his jaw gaped. Then—"Dad!" he shouted, and fairly threw himself upon the astounded figure before the tent.
MR. STILLWELL was too surprised to utter a word. He had known nothing of the boys' disappearance, he had thought them safe at La Raya, and here they were dropping out of a clear sky as if by magic. "Good heavens, what are you doing here, Bob?" he gasped when he found his voice. "Why aren't you at La Raya?"
"Gosh, Dad, but it's good to see you!" cried Bob. "But what are you doing here? Searching for us?"
"No, son, why should I be searching for you? I'm on my way back to La Raya. Been examining prospects for the past month and more. How did you know where to find me?"
"It's a long, long story, Dad, and we haven't had breakfast yet. Our Indians ran off and left us. We'll tell you all about it while we eat. But didn't you know we were lost?" Mr. Stillwell shook his head. It was hopeless to make any headway until he could get a connected account of the mystery. "All right," he agreed. "You arrived just in time for breakfast—never knew you to miss a meal yet—so come along and eat, and let's see what sort of fairy tale you can think up to explain why Pancho and you are here."
"Well, first thing that happened," mumbled Bob as he helped himself to an immense flapjack, "the car skidded and was wrecked and the chauffeur was killed. Then Pancho and I decided to walk to Palitos and—"
"Lost your way of course," his father interrupted. "Well, go on."
As they ate, the boys described their adventures while Mr. Stillwell and Haskins listened attentively. When they reached the point where they told of having saved Tonak's life and of living in his village, Bob's father again interrupted.
"Never mind about all the details," he said. "I can guess that part. I suppose eventually the Indians guided you out for La Raya, and if I'm not mistaken you said they deserted you. When was that?"
"Last night," said Pancho.
"Say, wasn't that a wonderful coincidence, Dad?" cried Bob. "There we were, camping almost within sight of each other and never dreaming of it, and then the Indians happening to go off just at that particular time."
"Coincidence nothin'!" growled Haskins. "Them Injuns knew we was camped here. They figgered it out to leave you flat soon's ever they brung you within sight of us. But I'd like to know why they done it. Injuns don't do nothin' without a reason. I—"
"And they left their packs, too," exclaimed Bob. "And—galloping catfish! I'd forgotten all about it." He jumped up, his mouth full of food. "Say, we'd better go back before some one finds all that gold and stuff over there at our camp!"
"Gold!" cried Mr. Stillwell. "What gold? What are you talking about, Bob?"
"Why, the gold they gave us. Gee whiz, we haven't told you about that yet. You see—"
The men scarcely heard his words. They were gazing at the gleaming objects Pancho had nonchalantly placed on the table before them. "We got these, too," he announced. "Are they worth very much?"
"Jumping Jupiter! Am I seein' things?" gasped Haskins. "Worth very much? Oh, my everlastin' sainted aunt!"
"Where on earth did you get those?" asked Bob's father in awed tones as he picked up one of the flashing gems. "This—why don't you know, don't you realize this is an emerald—a jewel? It must be of great value!"
"Yea, verily!" declared Haskins, leaning forward and peering at the stone with burning eyes. "If it didn't have that there hole into it I'd say 'twas worth all of ten thousand!"
"Ten thousand dollars!" cried the boys.
HASKINS sank limply into his camp chair, threw up his hands and groaned.
"While we're skinnin' these darned hills an' a-walkin' our feet off lookin' for some outcrop of pay dirt these two human horseshoes are a pickin' up jools like they were daisies!" he exclaimed.
"Gee, I wish we'd brought more of 'em," lamented Bob. "There was a whole chest full of—"
"Hold on, son!" cried his father. "Let's have this straight. Where did you find these? What about the chest? You didn't mention it when you were telling your adventures."
"Well, you didn't let me," Bob reminded him. "You said never mind about what happened after we got to the village. But there's a lot more to tell. We found a temple—"
"With mummies and an old fellow in armor and a gold sun—" put in Pancho. "And Tonak told us he'd make us 'great chiefs' in our own country and gave us these and the gold. Showed us a large treasure they'd been guarding for hundreds of years in a big pyramid. Tons of gold and silver and a chest full of these stones. And—"
"He told us to take all we wanted, but we couldn't carry very much," added Bob. "Just the gold the Indians could tote and what we put in our pockets. But Tonak said we were welcome to go back and get more whenever we wanted to."
Mr. Stillwell almost collapsed as he listened to the boys' amazing statements. "If these stones weren't here before my eyes I wouldn't believe a single word of what you've said," he declared. "What do you make of it, Haskins?" The foreman sat up with a jerk. "Make of it!" he cried. "Why, these two boys have seen what folks have been huntin' for close onto four hundred years—Atahualpa's treasure! They get plumb lost an' just by bull luck find the old cacique bein' chawed by a cussed tiger, an' here they be with their pockets stuffed full of jools an' nobody knows how much gold lyin' around loose over to their camp. Oh my aunt!"
The boys started to disgorge the contents of their pockets, but Mr. Stillwell stopped them.
"Don't!" he exclaimed. "Not here, boys. I think my men are honest, but there's a limit to temptation for any native. Come into my tent—you, too, Haskins, and we'll see what loot you've got and put it under lock and key."
When at last the boys had emptied their pockets the two men sat gazing at each other with wide eyes.
"I haven't the most remote idea what this is worth," said Bob's father. "Have you, Haskins?"
The miner shook his head. “If them stones wasn't so badly cut and wasn't bored I'd guess they'd be worth close to quarter of a million," he announced. "But as 'tis—"
"As it is," declared Mr. Stillwell, interrupting him, "in my opinion they may be worth fully as much or even more as archeological specimens."
THE two boys scarcely could believe their ears. A quarter of a million! A fortune! And they had taken but a fraction of the contents of the chest!
"Whew!" whistled Pancho. "Then there must be billions in that place!"
Mr. Stillwell smiled. "Scarcely that," he said. "It takes almost two tons of solid gold to be worth a million—and a billion is one thousand millions or over two thousand tons of gold, my boy."
"Well, it looked to me as if there were thousands of tons there," declared Bob. "What was it old Tonak said about all the llamas it took to bring it there?"
"He said it required two thousand yanaconas and forty llama trains to carry it," announced Pancho. "What are yanaconas? I suppose they're some kind of Indians."
"They be," Haskins replied. "That's Quichua for porters. They carry about seventy-five to a hundred pounds. Are you dead sure the old boy said two thousand?"
"Well, he didn't say exactly that," Pancho admitted. "He said, 'Yanacona-kuna Ishcaica mitikuna huranga.'"
"That's right, by hooky!" Haskins declared. "Twice ten hundred. And how many llama trains?"
"Chusgo-Chunga," replied Pancho promptly.
"Forty all right," affirmed the miner. Then, after a moment's mental calculation: "Tie me down, Stillwell!" he exclaimed. "If the ol' Injun told the truth, more'n seventy-five tons of gold were brung by them there porters even if they only lugged seventy-five pounds apiece. And close onto twenty ton more must 'a' been on them llamas—forty trains is four hundred critters more or less. That's more'n a hundred ton of gold, Stillwell, not countin' them there stones—over fifty millions lyin' in that there place a-waitin' for us to walk in an' take it!"
Mr. Stillwell shook his head and smiled. "Even if there are one hundred tons of gold and countless gems in that remarkable treasure vault," he said, "there are a great many matters to be considered and not a few difficulties to be overcome before we can 'walk in an' take it.' "
"Well, what's the use of talking about that now?" demanded Bob. "Let's go over and get that gold at our camp. First thing you know someone'll run off with it."
Half an hour later, the gold had been safely hidden away among Mr. Stillwell's mineral samples without, apparently, arousing any suspicion among the muleteers and other natives. Orders were given to break camp and before noon the cavalcade was again in motion, wending its way slowly toward distant La Raya.
AS the boys rode along they told of many incidents which they had not mentioned before, but their thoughts naturally centered on the treasure they had seen and the small fortune they now possessed. They were greatly disappointed when they found that Mr. Stillwell could not at once go back with them in search of the treasure. "It would take weeks," he declared, "perhaps months to locate the spot, even if we ever found it. As a matter of fact I don't believe you boys have the remotest idea as to where it is."
They admitted that they did not.
"It may be in any direction from here then," he continued. "I'm inclined to think those Indians deliberately took you a roundabout route, and the only chance of finding it again would be by airplane."
"I been wonder in' why them Injuns left you boys when they did," observed Haskins, "but I reckon I know. That ol' cacique, to save a lot of travellin', brung you down to where he savvied we'd be an' set you down where you couldn't miss findin' us. He's a wise ol' bird an' wasn't takin' no risks of bein' trailed back to that there treasure house of hisn."
"But why should he object to taking us back there?" asked Bob. "He said we could have all the treasure ye wanted."
"Lord love ye!" exclaimed Haskins with a laugh. "You weren't takin' what he said for what he meant, were you? Injuns is like Spaniards that-a-way. If they like you or owe you somethin', they'll say a lot more'n they mean jus' to be perlite like. A Spaniard'll tell you his house an' all in it's yourn. But jest try to take it!"
"Well, maybe you're right," sighed Bob. "Anyway, we shouldn't really complain even if we never find the place again. We're both pretty rich."
His father smiled. "I'm afraid, son, you'll find you and Pancho are not as wealthy as you imagine. Most of these gems are antiquities and cannot legally be exported from Peru. Even if the gold were melted down and the gems recut, and thus destroyed as far as their archeological value is concerned, you would still be liable to have one-half of all the valuables seized by the government. It would be treasure-trove and according to law Peru claims fifty per cent."
"Then—but, Dad, that isn't fair!" cried Bob. "Tonak gave the things to us—we didn't find them."
"You'd have a mighty hard job trying to make the officials believe that," laughed his father. "I advise you boys to be very careful of what you say—don't mention treasure or Tonak's gift or, for that matter, anything about the hidden village, its people or the temple. The less said the better."
"You're dead right, Chief," exclaimed Haskins. "What folks don't know won't bother 'em, an' there ain't no danger of their knowin' nothin' less'n the boys spill the beans."
COMPARED to trudging on foot over the punas and across the mountains, camping wherever night found them and depending on chance game and the coarse food of the Indians, the boys found their present journey almost luxurious. They had horses or mules to ride, they slept on comfortable cots in tents, and they had an abundance of food. Although Mr. Stillwell and Haskins were both accustomed to hardships, they saw no reason in being uncomfortable when it could be avoided. This was a company expedition, and neither money nor equipment had been spared to render it as successful as possible. Because considerable sampling had to be done, a gang of laborers had been taken along, in charge of Haskins. In addition to these ten fellows—all Slavs or Russians, there were two "powder-men," Chilean "Rotos" of Spanish blood; a Peruvian surveyor, Señor Larañaga; Mr. Stillwell's Chinese cook, a coal black Jamaican, Tom, who cooked for the men; four Quichua Indian "arrieros" or muleteers; and half a dozen Cholo roustabouts and servants, while finally, there was a red-headed, bow-legged Texan named Masden, universally known as "Red," who was in charge of the live stock and packing.
Although Mr. Stillwell believed his men honest, he felt that his precautions in keeping the gems and gold out of sight were fully warranted. The men were a far from prepossessing looking lot, especially the laborers who, as Pancho remarked to Haskins, looked "more like pirates than miners."
Haskins, however, rated them differently. "Them!" he exclaimed. "They haven't the nerve to do nothin'. Now it's different with them two Rotos, who are plumb p'izen no matter where they be. Too danged ready with a knife an' short-tempered as a rattler. Just the same, them two ain't lookin' for trouble. What's that? The Cholos? Lord love you, son, them an' the Injuns is jus' about as dangerous as them llamas. You could load 'em down with gold and tell 'em to lug it down to La Raya alone an' they'd do it. But what you boys worryin' over? They's three of us white men—me, the boss an' Red—an' say, you ought to see Red when he get's het up!"
ILLUSTRATION? "Seems to me there are four white men," observed Bob. "You didn't count Señor Larañaga."
"Shucks, he's a Peruvian," replied Haskins. "Course I s'pose he is white, but we wouldn't never count on a native if it came to any trouble—not that they's a mite of chance of it. Even Red don't savvy what you two brung in."
"I wonder," mused Pancho a little later when Haskins had ridden off with Bob's father to look at a crimson patch on a hillside that indicated a lead-silver outcrop, "I wonder if Haskins really isn't worrying some over all our stuff."
"Nonsense!" declared Bob. "Why should he? No one knows about it. What put that idea into your head?"
"Well, nothing very much," replied Pancho thoughtfully. "Only I noticed that he's been wearing a revolver. And last night I woke up and heard someone moving about and peeked out and saw him."
Bob laughed. "Red carries a revolver, too," he reminded Pancho. "And why shouldn't Haskins be moving about at night? He's in charge of the outfit, after Dad, you know. It's his business to see that everything's all right."
"Well, maybe," admitted Pancho, "but he just said a few minutes ago that even Red didn't know anything about—well, about our things—and yet I saw him whispering with Red last night."
The Open Road for Boys, March 1932, with
fifth part of "The Incas' Treasure House"
BOB STILLWELL and Pancho McLean become lost in the Andes on their way to La Raya, a mining camp in Peru where Bob's father is manager. While lost they save the life of an Indian chief, disabled by a jaguar. Because of this they are well treated by the Indians of the chief's village. The boys find these Indians different from all others and they conclude that they are a lost tribe, living as did the Indians under the Incas before the time of Pizarro. They discover a temple with amazing golden ornaments and relics of the Spanish conquest.
Having recovered, Tonak starts with the boys and two young Indians, Kespi and Kenko, for La Raya, but first, because Bob and Pancho saved his life, Tonak shows them a fabulous treasure which the ancestors of his people kept from Pizarro's clutches, and tells them that they may take with them as much of it as they can carry.
The Indians suddenly desert the boys, just as they come in sight of a large exploring party under Mr. Stillwell, who has left La Raya before the news that the boys were lost had arrived. He is astounded to find Bob and Pancho in the midst of the desert, and amazed at the precious stones and gold they carry. Haskins, the foreman, and "Red" Masden, who are the only other white men in the party (except Larañaga, a Peruvian surveyor) are told the secret of the treasure. Arrangements are made to guard it, but the boys' suspicions become aroused and they feel that Haskins is worried and fears violence.
MR. STILLWELL laughed when the boys told him of their suspicions. "Of course Haskins isn't worried, he said. "But he's responsible for everything and it's no light matter to keep an expedition of this sort running right."
"He told us Red didn't know anything about what we had," said Pancho. "Don't you think Red does know, or has guessed?"
Mr. Stillwell looked at Pancho with a peculiar expression in his half-closed eyes. "How should I know what Red thinks?" he said. "I haven't told him anything."
Had the two boys known what Red had told Haskins in the whispered conference Pancho had witnessed, and which Haskins in turn had reported to Mr. Stillwell, they would have understood several matters that puzzled them. They would have known why the miner carried his revolver, why he made the rounds of the camp in the middle of the night, and why—although they were not aware of the fact—Red slept on a most uncomfortable bed of blankets spread over the loads of the pack-mules, instead of upon his comfortable camp cot. Also, Bob would have known why his father had evaded Pancho's question and had looked so queerly at him.
There was not in fact anything definite to worry about. Red had strolled over to the boys' camp while they had been talking with Mr. Stillwell and Haskins inside the tent on the morning of their astonishing appearance, and had surprised two of the Cholos poking about the packs left by Tonak and his Indians. Whether or not they had discovered that they contained gold Red did not know.
"Even if those Cholos saw the gold, I don't think there is need for worry," Mr. Stillwell had declared. "These two have worked for me for several years. They are so accustomed to seeing and even handling bullion at La Raya that I don't think it would occur to them that they could steal this gold or that it was unusual for the boys' packs to contain it."
"Sure, if they don't talk, there's nothin' to it," agreed Haskins. "Trouble is, a Cholo can't keep his mouth shut. The men have been talkin' quite a bit 'bout them boys bobbin' up. Like as not they'll get arguin' where they come from an' how, an' then them Cholos'll up an' tell what they know. Now I ain't sayin' as how there's danger from these here men. Them two Rotos is the only ones as has got backbone enough for anythin'. It'd be dead easy for 'em to lift a few bars or bags or plates an' hide 'em in the sand or amongst the rocks an' come back an' get 'em when they was ready. So I reckon the bes' thing is to have Red keep them there packs alongside him at night an' for all of us to kind of be watchin' out. I'm goin' heeled from now on an' if any of that bunch tries any funny business it'll be an unlucky day for him."
"Yes, I think it wise to be on the safe side," agreed Mr. Stillwell. "I'm thankful none of the men know about the stones."
"It's lucky we're in Peru," declared Haskins, "an' not some place where they's bandits. Howsomever, I'm goin' for to keep my eyes on them there Rotos— they're jus' nat'ral born pizen, even if they can shoot a vein to beat all get out."
THAT night the expedition camped in a deep, fertile ravine, and before they dropped off to sleep, Bob and Pancho determined to go out on a hunt at dawn the next day. They arranged to join the expedition again at about noon, farther down the ravine.
It was still quite dark when they awoke and crept out of their tent. Tiptoeing through the silent camp they met Haskins, who wished them good luck in a hoarse whisper. After eating the sandwiches which old Chin Foo had thoughtfully provided, they hurried up the canyon.
By the time the sun rose, they had traveled a mile and more from camp, Bob taking the right side of the canyon and Pancho the left. Often they were within sight of each other, but at times the ravine widened, and fallen rock masses and miniature jungles intervened.
In one such spot, Pancho heard the sound of a gunshot from the opposite side of the canyon. "Well, Bob's found something anyway," he said to himself. "I wonder what he got." Almost at the same instant a deer sprang into view and Pancho threw his rifle to his shoulder and fired. "Missed!" he exclaimed, as he saw the creature vanishing like a fleeting shadow. "Guess I'll go over and see what luck Bob had."
Just ahead the canyon narrowed abruptly. As he reached this
point Pancho shouted and listened for Bob's reply. But all was
silent. Pancho felt suddenly panic-stricken. Why didn't Bob
answer? Taking a long breath, he opened his mouth to call again,
but no sound issued from his lips. A slight noise caused him to
turn and he stood transfixed, gazing into the muzzle of a gun
along the barrel of which squinted a dark, villainous face!
Pancho felt his last moment had come. The thought raced through his mind that Bob already had been killed by the shot which he had heard. Incapable of moving, unable to utter a sound, he awaited the blinding flash that would end his life. Suddenly he heard the man say in Spanish, "Drop your gun!"
Pancho's fingers relaxed and his rifle fell clattering to the ground. Instantly a second figure sprang from behind a rock, seized the rifle, cocked it, and jamming the muzzle against Pancho's back ordered him to move along.
Faint with fear, yet vastly relieved to be still alive. Pancho stumbled forward. He had recognized the man who had seized his rifle as one of the Roto "powder-men" belonging to Haskin's gang, and he now recalled the other as one of the burly Slav miners. Somehow they must have discovered the secret of the treasure, and must have learned that he and Bob were going on this early morning hunt. With guns in their possession, they were doubtless planning to hold up the party and seize the gold and jewels. An ambush could easily be arranged among the rocks, from the shelter of which the villains could pick off the three white men, and as many of the others as they chose. And Bob! A lump rose in Pancho's throat as he thought of what must have been Bob's fate.
THE three soon came out on a bare slope below almost sheer cliffs. The fellow behind Pancho ordered him to turn to the right where a narrow shelf led up the canyon wall. Presently the narrow pathway ended behind a pillar of rock where a dark cavern opened in the cliff. With a kick and a curse the Roto ordered Pancho into the cave. As, with an involuntary cry of pain, he stumbled forward on hands and knees, he was thrown on his face and his wrists and ankles were quickly lashed together. In the dim light of the cavern he recognized the fellow who was manhandling him as the other Roto. Like a sack of meal he was dragged across the floor and flung into a corner.
"Pancho!" came a muffled cry from the blackness.
"Bob!" gasped Pancho, "Where are you?"
"Here!" came the whispered response.
"Over beyond me," came a new voice almost in Pancho's ear. "Ouch! You're lying on my wrists. Roll over!"
"Wh-who's that?" whispered Pancho. "Me—Larañaga!" came the reply. "They got me, too. They need me to guide them, but they plan to kill Mr. Stillwell and the others!"
"Shut up in there!" ordered the Roto from the outer cavern.
Larañaga lowered his voice to a whisper. "There's only one chance for them," he said. "Haskins is no fool. He'll miss these fellows sooner or later and know something is wrong. The fools! With good wages due them, to kill and rob for the sake of a few horses and the camp outfit!"
Larañaga evidently did not know about the treasure, did not realize that the Rotos and the big Slav were playing for high stakes. Pancho pondered whether he should let his fellow prisoner remain in ignorance or tell him about the gold and precious stones. He was about to speak up, when an exclamation from Bob stopped him.
"Listen!" Bob hissed. "They forgot to search my pockets! I've a knife. If we can get it open we can cut each other free!"
"Caramba, it is true!" agreed the Peruvian. Perhaps I can reach the knife."
It was slow and painful work, trying to secure the knife with his lashed hands, but at last Larañaga drew it out and got it open. It took only a short time to cut Bob free, and the rest was easy. With sighs of relief the three rubbed their numbed, swollen hands and wrists.
"It's more comfortable," said Bob, "but I don't see as we're any better off."
"We'll be a lot worse off if they come in and find us free," Pancho remarked.
"No fear—for the present," declared Larañaga. "They're expecting our party at any moment and won't give us a thought until the fight is over."
The sharp report of a rifle suddenly rang through the canyon!
WITH no suspicion of danger, Mr. Stillwell led his party up the canyon toward the spot where the three desperadoes crouched behind the rocks, their rifles cocked and ready. They could not have found a place more perfectly designed for an ambuscade. In front of the cavern erosion had formed a groove or gutter with its outer edge nearly two feet above its floor. Lying with their bodies in the hollow, with rifles resting in crevices of the rock, the men could be seen only from above, by some one looking down from the top of the canyon, or by the condors sailing in great circles in the cloudless sky.
Mr. Stillwell did not expect to meet the boys for another hour, and not until the expedition was actually within range of the plotters' guns did he have any inkling that something was wrong. Then the alert Haskins rode up, scowling darkly.
"Them two Rotos has skipped!" he announced.
"Skipped!" repeated Mr. Stillwell, "you mean—"
"Gone. An' that ain't the whole of it neither. That big Slav, Peter, has cleared out with 'em, an' Larañaga's mis-sin'. Now what do you make out of that?"
"Larañaga—I can't believe he would associate with those Rotos," cried Mr. Stillwell. "Is any of the gold missing?"
"Not a chance!" declared Haskins. "An' I ain't sayin' as Larañaga j'ined them pizen Rotos. Maybe they're aimin' on makin' us ransom him."
"I believe you're right!" exclaimed Mr. Stillwell, pulling his horse to a stop. They've taken him prisoner. And the boys! Do you suppose they've got them too, and will demand the gold as ransom? Good Heavens, Haskins, the boys have guns! Those villains would stop at nothing if they know about the treasure. They may already have killed Bob and Pancho to get their rifles! Quick! Call Red and a few men you can trust. We must plan a rescue if it's not already too late!"
In response to Haskins' summons, Red rode up hastily. Suddenly there came the sharp report of a rifle, and Red's sombrero flew from his head! With a single motion he threw himself behind his horse, whipped out his revolver and fired at the tiny puff of smoke that had spurted from the face of the cliff.
The detonations of his forty-five drowned the sound of a second rifle shot; but a Cholo, frantically striving to control a terrified mule, spun like a top and sank limply to the ground.
"Back!" roared Haskins, wheeling his mount. "Back to them rocks!"
INSTANTLY all was confusion. The Slav laborers took to their
heels like stampeded cattle. The arrieros, shouting, cursing,
cracking their whips, strove to check and turn their mules and
burros. The frightened animals snorted, reared, and kicked. Only
the Indians and the llamas remained calm.
Unmindful of their danger, the three white men herded men and animals back to the partial protection of boulders and trees. A mule uttered a piercing scream and plunged to its knees to roll over kicking spasmodically. Burros squealed with fear or fell dead or wounded. A lumbering Slav uttered a bellow of mingled pain and rage as a bullet clipped his shoulder.
One Cholo lay dead beside the trail and a second crawled, dragging a shattered leg, into a crevice of the rocks. Haskins' face was covered with blood from a furrow cut by a bullet across his forehead. Red's mount had been killed under him, and Mr. Stillwell's saddle-horn had been broken by a rifle ball. But by far the greater number of shots spattered harmlessly against the rocks or thudded into the earth. Not until the last man and all the animals were comparatively safe in the shelter of the natural barrier did the three Americans turn their attention to their enemies.
"Those scoundrels have the boys' guns!" cried Mr. Stillwell as the trio crouched with poised weapons. Haskins' heavy revolver roared as he fired at a momentary glimpse of a moving body on the cliff side. "How many shells did them boys have?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," said Mr. Stillwell. "I think Bob had at least fifty and Pancho about half as many."
Red and Haskins fired together.
"Mebbe the Rotos loaded up with more before they vamoosed," remarked Red.
"Dumb fools!" growled Haskins. "Lessen they kill us three they can't never get away with it. Hullo! Who's them up there atop the cliff?"
On the summit of the canyon wall, above the spot where the bandits lay concealed, three figures had appeared, stooping, gazing down over the edge.
"Injuns!" exclaimed Red. "Reckon they heard the shootin' an' come along to see what's up."
"Injuns they be," agreed Haskins. "But what be they up to? Looks like—By thunder, they're throwin' somethin' down sure's I'm a settin' here. An' them villains up there have quit shootin'. Now what the dickens can that—"
Mr. Stillwell had leaped to his feet.
"The boys! Thank Heaven!" he shouted, springing over the rocks and dashing across the canyon.
At the spot from which the bandits' rifles had blazed, Larañaga and the two boys had suddenly popped into sight, waving their arms and shouting.
AS the first shot fired by their captors echoed through the cave, Larañaga, Bob and Pancho tensely listened for answering shots. Between the sharp cracks of the rifles close at hand, they could hear faint sounds and the occasional staccato, barking of pistols. Slowly the three prisoners drew nearer the entrance to the cavern, but they could see nothing of what was transpiring in the canyon even when they at last crouched just within the shelter of the cave. From their right came the crashing reports of rifles, and wisps of pungent smoke drifted to their nostrils. Now the shouting had ceased. Only the intermittent rifle fire and the answering reports of revolvers broke the silence.
"Caramba!" whispered Larañaga. "The fiends have not killed our comrades. They are still shooting. How many pistols can you distinguish?"
"Two fired then—almost together!" replied Panchito.
"There goes another!" said Bob. "Dad and Haskins and Red must be all right. They're the only ones who were armed."
"If they have plenty of cartridges they will win," declared Larañaga. "How many have these brigands?"
"I had twenty-three and used two—that leaves twenty- one," Pancho told him.
"I had fifty though," said Bob, "a full belt, and—"
A sharp, agonized cry from one of the bandits interrupted Bob's words.
"Gracias a Dios!" exclaimed Larañaga. "One of the scoundrels has been hit!"
"Give it to 'em!" shouted Pancho, in his excitement forgetting he was supposed to be a bound and helpless prisoner within the cave. But the Rotos and their companion were too occupied to notice, even if they heard his exultant shout.
"I've got to see what's going on!" cried Bob, stealthily creeping to the entrance of the cave and peering around an angle of the rock.
"Whew!" he exclaimed, drawing back. "They're right around the corner. But they're back to and won't see us. Come on, let's watch!"
"That big fellow is badly hurt," whispered Pancho as the three, emboldened by the men's position and their own excitement, darted from the cave and dropped behind a sheltering rock whence they had a clear view of the whole scene.
"Dead!" muttered Larañaga. "If it weren't for being shot by mistake by our friends we could now escape. These fellows could not see us until we reached the bottom of the canyon."
Bob grasped his arm. "Look!" he cried. "Where on earth did that come from?"
At his words the others turned toward the Rotos at whom Bob was gazing in puzzled amazement. From between the shoulders of the nearer man a slender shaft projected like a miniature flagstaff. Before the astonished three could speak, other shafts flashed downward to stand quivering, one in the sprawled body of the dead Slav, another within an inch of the surviving Roto, who, apparently oblivious of his companions' fate, was still firing at the men across the canyon. But at the impact of the missile he turned, uttered a startled cry, and twisting over on his back fired straight upward.
"Arrows!" gasped Larañaga. "Indians! From above! They—"
The words died on his lips as he stared at the Roto. Gazing toward the canyon rim with rolling, fear-filled eyes, he worked the rifle bolt frantically but only metallic clicks followed. The magazine was empty. With an oath he cast the useless weapon aside, half rose, then remembering the enemies across the canyon, he dropped back and like a gigantic reptile clawed and writhed his way toward the cavern's mouth. Never had the boys dreamed such awful fear could be written on a human face.
Scarcely had he moved forward his own length when a large stone whanged on the ledge before him. With a jerk and a cry of terror he flung himself back. Too late! With a sickening thud a rock struck his back. He screamed, and doubling up like a jackknife writhed horribly for a moment and then lay still. "Quick!" cried Larañaga, leaping to his feet. "It is over! We are saved!"
"Hold on! Wait!" yelled Pancho, grabbing the Peruvian and jerking him back. "They'll think you're a Roto and shoot at you. We'll show ourselves first. They'll recognize us. Come on, Bob! Jump up and yell like blazes!"
As they did so, Bob's father sprang from behind a rock and came dashing across the canyon, followed by Haskins and Red.
THE boys and Larañaga raced down the narrow ledge and skirted the face of the cliff to the bottom of the canyon to meet the three men.
"Where's them blasted Rotos?" demanded Haskins, as the two groups converged. "What happened to 'em? Did we get 'em or was it them Injuns on the cliff?"
"Madre de Dios! Did you not know then?" panted Larañaga. "I thought you sent Indians to attack from above."
"Gosh it was awful!" exclaimed Bob.
"They killed one with an arrow and the other with rocks!" interrupted Pancho.
"Yes, and that big Peter was already shot," put in Larañaga.
"But who in time were them Injuns?" demanded Haskins. "I seen 'em up there, thro win' somethin' down. Let's go up an' have a look at them Rotos. We'll want the rifles, anyhow."
As the two boys, shuddering a bit, approached the dead men, Pancho uttered a surprised cry and darting forward seized the arrow-like shaft that had struck the rocks. "It—it's one of Kespi's throwing spears!" was his amazing declaration.
"It sure is!" gasped Bob. "But—"
"You mean—" began Mr. Stillwell, "you mean it's a weapon belonging to those Indian friends of yours?"
"How about this here pig-sticker?" asked Red who had withdrawn the spear from the body of the dead Roto.
"That's old Tonak's!" cried Bob excitedly. His spears always had this mushroom-shaped mark and a silver band. But Dad! how could they be here?"
"It sure beats me," commented Red. "Them Injuns made a mighty good job of it. Cleaned out the whole nest. That Peter wasn't shot by a bullet. There's a hole in his head, but not a bullet hole or I'm a liar."
"Yes, by hookey, an' I figger this is what made it," interrupted Haskins. As he spoke he exhibited a smoothly finished spherical object of grayish stone.
"That's a sling stone!" cried Bob, "just like those the Indians used."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Mr. Stillwell, who had taken the little ball from Haskins. "Did you notice it's weight, Haskins? It's tin—cassiterite—stream-tin! And as heavy as lead. No wonder it could kill a man."
"'Pears to me," Haskins observed, "that them three Injuns must ha' been campin' on our trail ever since we met up with the boys."
"Gee, I'd like to see them again!" declared Bob.
"Me too!" chimed in Pancho. "Can't we find them and thank them for helping us?"
Red chuckled, "I reckon not," he said. "If they'd wanted to be met up with they'd have been here by now. Looks to me like their job's done and most likely they're hittin' the high spots on their way back to their hide-out."
BUT Red was mistaken. As the party crossed to where the rest of the expedition lay hidden behind the rocks, the boys halted and glanced back.
"Look! Look!" cried Bob excitedly. "There they are!"
Standing upon the verge of the canyon wall, motionless as statues, were three figures that the boys would have known anywhere. Wildly they shouted and waved their hats.
"Tonak! Kespi! Kenko!" they yelled at the tops of their lungs. For a moment the Indians upon the cliff top remained silent, as quiet as if carved from stone. Then slowly they raised their arms, their right hands lifted toward the sky, their left hands resting over their hearts in the Incan gesture of farewell.
"Ayhualla! Ayhualla!" Faint and thin as the whisper of a breeze the words drifted across the canyon. The next instant the three figures vanished.
In silence the boys turned to the waiting horses. Silently they mounted and rode forward as with the cracking of whips, the shouts of Cholos and Indians, the clatter of hoofs and the tramp of the Slavs' hobnailed boots the cavalcade once again resumed its interrupted journey.
"Day after tomorrow we'll be in La Raya," muttered Bob with a note of regret in his voice. "But—well, I suppose it will be awfully tame after all the adventures we've had. Somehow I'd like to be going back to Tonak's village."
"So would I," declared Pancho. "I'd give a lot to be with those Incans again. They're mighty fine fellows."
Mr. Stillwell smiled. "Remember the old saying, boys," he reminded them. "Distance lends enchantment, you know."
"By gum, I don't know about that neither," exclaimed Haskins.
"Seems to me the nearer I be to my pay the better it looks. Danged if it don't."