The Lost City by Jr. Joseph E. Badger (good summer reads TXT) 📕

as quickly as might be.

 

Still, unfamiliar with the construction of the temple as he was,

Bruno felt helpless without his guide, and so timed his progress

by that of Ixtli, right hand tightly gripping the handle of his

“hand-wood,” or maquahuitl, resolved to give a good account of

either of those rascally varlets in case trouble lay ahead.

 

The unwonted desolation which appeared to reign on all sides was

plainly troubling the Aztec brave, and he seemed to suspect a

cunning ambuscade, judging from his slow advance, pausing at

nearly every step to bend ear in keen listening.

 

Still, nothing was actually seen or heard until after the young

men reached the upper elevation, upon a portion of which the Sun

Children had been first sighted by the air-voyagers.

 

Here the first sound of human voices was heard, and Bruno stopped

short in obedience to the almost fierce grip which Ixtli closed

upon his nearest arm, listening for a brief space, then

breathing, lowly:

 

“We see, first. Dat good! Him see first, dat bad! Eye, ear,

two both. You know, brother?”

 

“You mean that we are to listen and play spy, first, Ixtli?”

asked Bruno, scarcely catching the real meaning of those hurried

words.

 

“Yes. Dat best. Come; step like snow falls, brother.”

 

“Who is it, first?”

 

“Victo, she one. Odder man, not know sure, but think Huatzin.

He bad; all bad! Kill him, some day. Dat good; plenty good all

over!”

 

This grim vow appeared to do the Aztec good from a mental point

of view, and then he led his white friend silently towards the

covered part of the teocalli, from whence those sounds emanated.

 

Curtains of thick stuff served to shut in the light and to partly

smother the sound of voices, but Ixtli cautiously formed a couple

of peepholes of which they quickly made good use.

 

A portion of the sacred fire was burning upon its special altar,

while a large lamp, formed of baked clay, was suspended from the

roof, shedding a fair light around, as well as perfuming the

enclosure quite agreeably.

 

Almost directly beneath this hanging-lamp stood the two Children

of the Sun, one tall, stately, almost queenly of stature, and now

looking unusually impressive, as she seemed to act as shield for

her daughter, slighter, more yielding, but ah, how lovely of face

and comely of person!

 

Even then Bruno could not help realising those facts, although

his ears were tingling sharply with the harsh accents falling

from a far different pair of lips, those of a tall, muscular

warrior whose form was gorgeously arrayed in featherwork and

cunning weaving, rich-hued dyes having been called to aid the

other arts as well.

 

If this was actually the Prince Hua, then he was a most brutal

sample of Aztecan aristocracy, and at first sight Gillespie felt

a fierce hatred for the harsh-toned chieftain.

 

As a matter of course, Bruno was unable to comprehend just what

was being said, thanks to his complete ignorance of the language

employed; but he felt morally certain that ugly threats were

passing through those thin lips, and even so soon his hands began

to itch and his blood to glow, both urging him to the rescue.

 

Swiftly fell the reply made by Victo, and her words must have

stung the prince to the quick, since he uttered a savage cry,

drawing back an arm as though to smite that proudly beautiful

face with his hard-clenched fist.

 

That proved to be the cap-sheaf, for Bruno could stand no more.

He dashed aside the heavy curtain as he leaped forward, giving a

stern cry as he came, swinging the war club over his shoulder to

strike with all vengeance at the startled and recoiling Aztecan.

 

Only the young man’s unfamiliarity with the weapon preserved

Prince Hua from certain death. As it was, he reeled, to fall in

a nerveless heap upon the floor, while, with a startled cry,

another Aztec broke away in flight.

 

CHAPTER XXIII.

A FLIGHT UNDERGROUND.

 

That sudden appearance and flight of another man took Ixtli even

more by surprise than it did Bruno, for he never even suspected

such a possibility, knowing Prince Hua so well. Still, the young

brave was swift to rally, swift to pursue, sending a menace of

certain death in case the fleeing cur should not yield himself.

 

Just then Bruno had eyes and thoughts for the Sun Children alone,

who quite naturally shrunk back in mingled surprise and alarm at

his unceremonious entrance. He forgot his disguise, forgot

everything save that before him stood the fair beings whom he had

vowed to save at all hazards from what appeared to him worse by

far than actual death.

 

Gillespie never knew just what words crossed his lips during

those first few seconds, but he saw that the women, in place of

eagerly accepting his aid, were visibly shrinking, apparently

more alarmed than delighted with the opportunity thus offered.

 

Doubtless this was caused mainly by that odd blending of Aztec

and paleface, the colour and garb of the one joined to the tongue

of the other; but the result might have been even worse, had not

Ixtli hastened back to clear up more matters than one.

 

In spite of his utmost efforts, the second Indian had escaped

with life, although he received a glancing wound from an arrow,

as he plunged down towards the lower level; and nothing seemed

more certain than that an alarm would right speedily spread

throughout the town, if only for the purpose of hurrying succour

to the Lord Hua.

 

All this rolled in swift words over Ixtli’s lips, his warning

finding completion before either of the women could fairly

interrupt the young brave. But then the one whom Ixtli termed

Victo spoke rapidly in his musical tongue, one strong white hand

waving towards the now somewhat embarrassed Gillespie.

 

“He friend; come save you, like save Ixtli,” the Aztec hurriedly

made reply, with generous tact speaking so that Bruno could

comprehend as well as the women. “He good; all good! Paba bad;

‘Tzin more bad; be worse bad if stay here, Victo—Glady.”

 

Thus given the proper cue, Bruno took fresh courage and, in as

few words as might be, explained his mission. He spoke the name

of Cooper Edgecombe, and for the first time that queenly woman

showed signs of weakness, staggering back with a faint, choking

gasp, one hand clasped spasmodically above her madly throbbing

heart, the other rising to her temples as though in fear of

coming insanity.

 

“He is well; he is safe and longing for his loved ones,” Bruno

swiftly added, producing the brief note which the exiled aeronaut

had pressed into his hand at almost the last moment. “He wrote

you that—here it is, and—”

 

“Make hurry, quick!” sharply interposed Ixtli, as ominous sounds

began to arise without the Temple of the Sun God. “Dog git ‘way,

howl for more. Come here—kill like gods be glad.”

 

With an evident effort Victo rallied, tones far from steady as

she begged both young men to save themselves without thought of

them.

 

“I thank you; heaven alone knows how overjoyed I am to hear from

my dear husband,—my poor child’s own father! And he is near,

to—But go, go! Guide and protect him, Ixtli, for—Go, I implore

you, sir!”

 

“But how—we haven’t arranged how you are to be rescued, and I

must understand—”

 

“Later, then; another time, through Ixtli,” interrupted Mrs.

Edgecombe, since there could no longer be a doubt as to her

identity. “If found here ‘twill be our ruin as well as your own.

Go, and at once I fear that Lord Hua may—”

 

“He ‘live yet,” pronounced Ixtli, rising from a hasty examination

o f the fallen chieftain. “Dat bad; much more worse bad! He

dog; all over dog!”

 

“And I greatly fear he must have recognised you as one of a

foreign race, in spite of your disguise,” added the elder woman,

trouble in her face even as it showed in her voice. “He will be

wild for revenge, and I fear—Go, and directly, Ixtli!”

 

Bruno Gillespie was only too well assured that this latest fear

had foundation on truth. Swiftly though he had wielded the

awkward (to him) hand-wood, Huatzin had sufficient time to sight

his assailant, and almost certainly had divined at least a

portion of the truth.

 

Doubtless it would have been the more prudent course to repeat

that blow with greater precision; but Bruno could not bring

himself to do just that, even though the ugly cries were growing

in volume on the ground level; and he felt that capture would be

but the initial step to death, in all likelihood upon the great

stone of sacrifice.

 

Imminent though their peril surely was, Bruno could not betake

himself to flight without at least partially performing the duty

for which he had volunteered; and so he took time to hurriedly

utter:

 

“Watch from the top of the tower for the air-ship, and be ready

to leave at any moment, I implore you—both!”

 

For even now his admiring gaze could with difficulty be torn away

from yonder younger, even more lovely, visage; although as yet

the maiden had spoken no word, even shrinking away from this

strangely speaking Aztec as though in affright.

 

“Come, brother, or too late,” urged Ixtli, almost sternly. “Save

you, or Glass-eyes call Ixtli dog-liar. Come; must run, no

fight; too big many for that.”

 

And so it seemed, when the young men rushed away from the lighted

interior and gained the uncovered space beyond. Loud cries came

soaring through the night from different directions, and dim,

phantom-like shapes could be glimpsed in hurrying confusion.

 

Apparently the majority only knew that trouble of some

description was brewing, and that the centre of interest was

either in or near the Temple of the Sun God; yet that was more

than sufficient to place the white intruder in great peril,

despite the elaborate disguise he wore.

 

Then with awful abruptness there came a sound which could only be

likened to rolling thunder by one uninitiated, but which caused

Ixtli to shrink and almost cower, ere gasping:

 

“The great wardrum! Now MUST go! Sacrifice if caught; come,

white brother! See, dat more bad now!”

 

Those mighty throbs rolled and reverberated from the hills,

filling the night air with waves of thunder, none the less

awe-inspiring now that their true import was realised.

 

The entire population was aroused, and each building seemed to

cast forth an armed host, while, as through some magic touch, a

circle of fires sprung up on all sides, beginning to illumine

both valley and barrier.

 

Bruno stood like one appalled, really fascinated by this

transformation scene for which he had been so poorly prepared;

but Ixtli better comprehended their situation, and gripping an

arm he muttered, hastily:

 

“Come, brother; stop more, make too late. Must hide, now. Dat

stop go back way came. Come!”

 

Bruno roused himself with an effort, then yielded to the Aztec’s

guidance, crouching low as the brief bit of clear moonlight had

to be traversed.

 

Instead of making for the steps which, as customary, reached from

terrace to terrace at each corner, Ixtli crept to the centre,

where the temple-side was cast into deepest shadow, then lowered

himself by his arms, to drop silently to the broad path below.

 

A whispered word urged Bruno to imitate this action, and those

friendly hands caught and steadied Gillespie as he took the drop.

And so, one after another, the mighty steps were passed, both

young men reaching the ground at the same instant, having

succeeded in leaving the Temple of